What Stays
by TheOneWorthLeaving
Summary: When things fall apart in Pawnee, Ann and April find a measure of solace together. Ann/April.
1. Like A Weight

_**Author's Note**: Set directly after "Halloween Surprise" (5x05), but the recall that is threatened in "Soda Tax" (5x02) and occurs in "Are You Better Off?" (5x22) is already happening. I hope to live up to the standard set by the terrific Ann/April fics of Kyndeyrn. Indispensable beta-work by Driftwoodsun. I try to update a chapter a week. _

* * *

Ann tried balancing the three plastic grocery bags with a cup of coffee as she maneuvered through the doors of city hall. The drink, hot and black, spilled onto her wrist; as it burnt she jumped, spilling more. "Dammit." After a double at the hospital, starting around midnight, she needed caffeine. She exhaled, and dumped the cup into a nearby trash can, shaking her hand off above it.

She walked through Leslie's office, attempting a tired smile. "I got all the stuff…. walkie talkies, yarn, and the city's zoning records from the last ten years. What's this for, anyway?"

Leslie perked up, and cocked her head to the side. "Oh Ann, you beautiful Johnny-come-lately. That was ages ago."

Ann's eyebrows shot up. "I came straight here from the hospital—"

Leslie was already up. "New plan! Something's come up, Ann. It's big." She looked over her shoulder as she headed out of the office. "I'll let you know what we need!"

"Oh…kay?" Leslie was already gone. Alone in Leslie's office, Ann slumped and finally put down the bags. She shook her wrist out, still hot and red from the coffee. She didn't want to close her eyes; when she was this tired it made things spin. But this time she couldn't help it.

"Gee Ann," April's sneering voice jolted her eyes open, "I thought it would be a couple more years until you turned into a bag lady."

Ann shrugged it off and walked over to April's desk. "Do you know what Leslie's talking about?"

April looked up at Ann, irritated. "I never know. Government blah blah blah, female empowerment blah blah blah, waffles blah blah blah."

Ann stared at April, waiting the real explanation. April rolled her eyes and huffed. "OK, people are upset about the anti-obesity legislation Leslie wants to put through the council," April said, not looking up toward Ann, engrossed in shredding a napkin. "Ben did some poll thing and found out that she's going to lose the recall election if she doesn't drop it."

"Oh," Ann paused. "What's she going to do?"

April looked up at Ann, irritated. "I don't know. People in this stupid town love Sweetums and Paunchburger more than anything. I don't get what Leslie thinks is so great about Pawnee anyway."

Ann wanted to say something to defend her adopted town, but nothing came. She was exhausted and nauseated, and just shrugged.

April's tone softened only a little. "What are you going to do now?"

"I don't know," Ann sighed. "I kind of plan my day around Leslie." Her wrist still stung.

April frowned and glanced at the bags slumped against Leslie's desk. "Well that's just sad, Ann," April said. Ann shook her head, too tired to fight. "Yeah."

* * *

April picked at her fries as she scanned the veterinary textbook in front of her, about ready to shut it for the night. "Ugh, why do cows have to have so many stomachs?" she said in frustration. Andy sat down at their table and took a big bite of his burger. "I don't know babe" he said through chewing as he watched the football game playing quietly on the TV, "but they're doing it right, cause they taste _awesome_."

April recoiled a little. She had been studying all night how animals work and how to heal them; it was weird to think of them as food. Suddenly the prospect of chewing their flesh made her queasy. "Don't be gross."

Andy laughed and thrust his burger towards her, speaking sing-song for it: "Don't eat me, April! I'm just a little bitty cow!"

April pushed it away, annoyed. "Don't. Cows are actually really sweet. If I'm going to be a vet, I'm going to have to treat animals…." she said. Andy just laughed.

April shrugged and turned on a CD, hoping that the familiar album would put her at ease.

She was only back to her reading for a minute. "Hey babe?" Andy asked, looking thoughtful. "What do you think is worse: not being able to pee all day, or having to drink pee once?"

She rubbed her eyes, trying not to be irritated. "Andy, if I'm going to get into the program at Wilmington I really need to study this." She didn't want to sound harsh, and gave an exaggerated pout. Andy smiled. "Sorry babe. I promise I'll let you study now."

April went back to her book. Mid-way through a paragraph on the circulatory system, she could sense that Andy was getting antsy. "What?"

"Umm, is this," Andy grimaced, gestured the stereo which was softly putting out sound, "that CD Chris likes to play about the monk?"

"No," she sighed, "this is Neutral Milk Hotel." She tried to change the topic. "Can you please quiz me on this?" Andy was already distracted by the football game playing silently on the TV. "I'm not good at that stuff. But Ann is, why don't you just ask her?" He took another bite of his burger while he focused on the TV and tossed the Paunchburger wrapper aside. "She's, like, a real adult or something."

April shut her book. "Yeah. I guess sometimes you need that."

* * *

Ann woke up cold. It took a while for her eyes to adjust to the light streaming in through the sides of the blinds. The knocking that had awakened her sounded again.

She stumbled to the door, and opened it up to April, who looked her up and down and scoffed at her pajamas. "Sleep in much?"

Ann squinted in the bright sunlight. "Sometimes I work the late shift at the hospital." April brushed past her and sunk down onto the couch. "Make yourself at home," Ann muttered as she closed the door, and went to the kitchen to make some coffee. "What's up?"

"I, umm," April mumbled, "I kind of need your help. You had to learn about anatomy and stuff for nursing school right?"

Ann nodded.

"Well, I have to learn about things like that for veterinary school. And Andy's not really helping me study, so I thought maybe you could… help." April tried to be casual about it as she paged through a healthy eating magazine on Ann's coffee table.

Ann smiled and crossed her arms playfully over her chest. "Well, I guess you must think pretty highly of my professional expertise, then, April."

April shrugged. "I guess you're bound to learn something about medicine if you sleep with as many doctors as you have," she said, not looking up from an overlong article about flax seed. Her voice was flat, but something in it told Ann that April was pleased with her response.

Ann rolled her eyes and went back for the coffee. "Fine." She stopped. "But you've got to do something for me."

April looked up from the magazine.

"I have all five seasons of Sex and the City, and you and I are finally going to watch it," Ann grinned.

April grimaced. "Can't I just read the summary on Wikipedia?" April recognized the lotion on the table as the same kind Tom used at his desk.

Ann wrapped her hands around the cup of coffee, still trying to get warm. "Why don't you come over after work tomorrow and we'll get started?"

"OK." April got up and was ready to leave.

"Hey April." Ann stopped her. "Maybe this is none of my business, but… if that veterinary school is in Wilmington, does that mean you're leaving Pawnee?"

April stared at her feet, unable to look up. "I don't know. Andy wants to stay here. But," she bit her lip, "I just don't see the point."

Ann frowned. "What do you mean?"

April's brown eyes looked up into Ann's. "I don't know what's here for me. Or anyone. You never think about leaving?"

Ann looked down now. "Sometimes. Not much anymore. Things get… things get complicated, April. It's hard to disentangle yourself from someplace, after a while. Maybe you don't feel it yet, but you will."

April noticed that the white square on the magazine bore Ann's address, but the postmark had the name "Chris Treager" typed at the top. "No shit, Ann." April turned around, opened the door, and left.

Ann looked around the room. She was up; she might as well do something. She just didn't know what. Leslie still hadn't told her what the new project was, and the hospital didn't need her for another few days. She sat down on the couch, and looked at the remote control, but she was sick of TV. She was in a bad mood, and she didn't know if it was because of April or not.

She picked up the magazine April had looked at. It was months old, but she felt like she needed to read the articles in it before she could throw it away. Lately she just couldn't bring herself to care. And now there were ten or twelve magazines on her table, cluttering it, accumulating. These magazines felt like her past, pulling her down like a weight. Had she really wanted a subscription to Natural Health? Or was it just because Chris kept a copy in his office? It didn't matter much anymore. Now every month it was going to just keep showing up. She hated looking at them. She collected each of them, and dumped them into the garbage in the kitchen.

She still didn't know what she was going to do now that she was up. She wandered over to the window, wondering if she could still see April walking down the street, but all the view could offer her was the empty lot that used to be the Pit.


	2. So This Is About Pawnee?

The key stuck in Ann's office door more than usual that morning as the grogginess of the last few days clung to her. Leslie still hadn't gotten in touch with her. Which was whatever, Ann thought – she was probably busy with the recall. In a way it was a relief. She made her way into the main office to find Leslie listening to Ben, who sounded even more high-strung than usual. "Look, according to this, the injunction is going to be processed by Friday _at the latest_."

Ann glanced at Andy and April, who were also watching the exchange. "What's going on?"

Leslie ran a hand through her hair and answered. "The Pawnee 'Freedom Party'" she made sarcastic air quotes with her fingers, "is challenging the constitutionality of the anti-obesity measure we passed. To defend it we'd have to go to court in Indianapolis."

"Or…" Ben hesitantly put in, "we could let the bill die and just focus on the recall election… Leslie, I'm worried that if you go up to the capitol this could end up dragging on and on. You can't run an election campaign all the way from Indianapolis."

Leslie shook her head. "No. What's the point of keeping my seat on the council if I can't do anything with it?" Ben nodded at the point.

After a few seconds of silence, Ann spoke up. "So what's the plan Leslie?"

"The plan…" Leslie took a deep breath, "is that I go to Indianapolis, for however long it takes. Tonight." It took a moment for it to sink in. She turned to her right. "Ben?"

Ben smiled. "I'm right there with you."

Leslie smiled back.

"Andy," she said, "you're my assistant, I'll need you there, too."

Andy promptly jumped to attention. "You got it Leslie!" He turned to April as Jerry was walking in. "Babe, pack your bags, we're going to the big city!"

Jerry glowed. "Oh! You two are going to _love _Muncie—"

April cut him off. "Shut up Jerry, this has nothing to do with Muncie." Jerry looked confused.

"Actually," Leslie said reluctantly, "April, you're going to have to stay here. You're the deputy director of Animal Control now, and that comes with a lot of responsibility." April felt a pang of self-pity, and a tension creeping into her shoulders. Leslie continued, "Andy, I'm going to need you to get some things for the trip to Indiana. Go to JJ's and tell them it's for me – I'll need six of the usual, packed for travel."

Andy nodded emphatically. "On it!" He ran out of the office, careening into the hall as he yelled over his shoulder, "Love you babe, call you when we get there!" April managed a meager "Love you," but Andy was already gone. She sank down into her chair, staring down at her shoes, completely sick of them.

Leslie turned to Ann. "Ann, you need to study up on the recent literature on obesity. You're going to be our expert witness!"

Ann shook her head, trying to find the words. Everything was moving so fast. She looked down at April, the only one who seemed to realize what a bad idea all of this was. "Leslie, I still work at the hospital. I can't just leave for who knows who long…" Ann hung her head and rubbed her temples; a headache was being brought on from the blur of motion that seemed to be swirling around her.

But Leslie was already planning out the trip in her head, and had long moved past what Ann had said. Soon Leslie and Ben had left, and the only ones in the office were Ann and April. Ann looked over, about to say something. April looked away and went into Ron's office, leaving Ann by herself.

* * *

Andy had taken the car with him to Indianapolis, leaving April to walk across town. The bus no longer ran this way; budget cuts had shut down the route. Leslie had vowed to find some funds for the bus, but she had to pick her battles at this point. And now April was alone, pulling her hoodie close, trudging on as dusk turned to night. The rest of the city seemed to have left with Leslie, Ben, and Andy – occasionally a car flooded the street with yellow light, only to be quickly gone.

The office had been quiet after they left. Donna was off in her own world, Ron didn't want to talk to anybody, and nobody wanted to talk to Jerry. The workday had been a stretch of tedium, waiting on the clock, just her and her headphones.

Down a nearby alley she heard a bottle thrown against the pavement, followed by hoots and laughter. One of the shadowy figures there yelled something incomprehensible at her, followed by the guffaws of his friends, and a few more catcalls. She kept her head down.

She came to the edge of Lot 48, the empty space where the Pit used to be, red and white Paunchburger wrappers littering the lumpy soil. She walked to the center and lingered there in the dark, out of the range of any of the streetlights nearby. Andy was gone, and for some reason she felt a little relieved. Relieved that she didn't have to constantly take care of him, and relieved that she'd have more time to study for her exam. At least, that had always been her goal when he was there. But now that didn't seem all that appealing, either. Sometimes she wasn't sure whether she really wanted to be a vet, or if it was just an escape route out of here – like so many she had fantasized of as a child.

* * *

The knock on the door jolted Ann out of her sleep; she had fallen asleep on the couch with the lights on – third time this week – and she blinked as she tried to smooth out her bed head. She got up and opened the door for April.

April didn't meet Ann's eyes. "Hey."

"Hey, come in... Sorry, I forgot you were coming over."

"Did you forget to own a comb, too, Ann?" April brushed past her, and went into the kitchen to start up the coffee maker. It was bright and clean in Ann's house; a nice change from her own place, the floor littered with Andy's stuff, and from the dark center of Lot 48.

Ann tried not to feel indignant at the way April was making herself at home. "Isn't it a little late for coffee?"

April just shrugged.

Ann watched her get out a mug and creamer, and noticed that she seemed more dour than usual. Maybe she was hanging out too much with Orin. She took a deep breath. "So… do you miss Andy?"

April responded caustically, "Do you?"

"April! Cut it out. You just seem down, so I'm asking."

"_God. Sorry." _She paused."Yeah, I guess," she said, not very convincingly. She poured the coffee into the mug and put away the creamer without using it.

Ann frowned. "Are you guys having problems?"

"What, are _you _going to give me relationship advice?"

Ann went back to the couch, and sunk down, exasperated, her back to April . "No," she said, giving up. "I just thought you might want to talk."

The regret flooded back to April. Why did she always do this? Why did she come down so hard on Ann, especially?

April awkwardly joined Ann on the couch. "Sorry. It's hard to talk to you for some reason."

Ann didn't look up; she was tired, and April's constant barrage was taking it out of her. "Apparently."

The regret was too heavy, and suddenly April wished she could go back and do this over again. She swallowed, and spoke up. "I think it's because I'm worried … that Andy compares me to you." Ann still wasn't responding. April took a breath; she hated the idea of saying this to Ann, but she felt like she had to. "You were a good girlfriend to him. And you're successful, you have this nice house, and you have a coffee maker that doesn't make the coffee smell like vinegar. And…" she rolled her eyes, "you're really pretty." She added in quickly: "And you're nice – even to me. I mean, everyone likes you."

Ann finally looked up at April; she wasn't sure what any of this meant, coming from April. "Look, you're getting upset over nothing. You don't have anything to worry about. You guys are _way _more compatible than we ever were. "

"What makes you so sure?" April asked urgently. Maybe, she thought, they had gotten married too soon. Maybe Leslie was right.

Ann leaned over toward April, a little exasperated by having to reassure her. "Where is this coming from, April? What makes you think you two aren't compatible?"

"It's just… it's little things. And big things. I don't know." April hunched over, taking her head in her hands. Without realizing what she was saying, she just spoke. "I hate it here. I feel like I make these stupid little goals that are supposed to make me happy, and then when they happen I feel the _exact same way_ I did before."

Ann didn't say anything.

April looked down. "I can't make myself happy. I just, I need to get out of here."

Ann spent a minute taking this in. "So this is about Pawnee?"

"Yes—I mean, not really. I don't know." April said. "It's not that Andy loves Pawnee and I don't, it's that…" She searched for the words. "It's that he doesn't care about anything that will ever take him away from here." She shook her head. "He failed that police exam and he was sad for a while, but then it was like nothing had happened. He loves that stupid little shoe shine stand. He thinks me applying to veterinary school is just some hobby. The other day he kept talking about eating cows, and…" She was running out of steam, and out of words.

Ann let her words taper off before saying, quietly: "You need someone who's an adult."

April nodded for a long time. "Yeah."

They sat in silence for a moment. Everything felt strange to April. She was tired; she was embarrassed for acting like a mess, in front of _Ann Perkins_, of all people; and there was the peculiar feeling that came with her thinking that Ann could actually be insightful.

After a moment, April asked, "Is that why you left him?"

Ann was about to answer, but thought better of it. "Look, April, your relationship with Andy is completely different from the one I had with him—"

"But" April cut her off, "is that why you left him?"

Ann gave in. "Yeah."

April felt sick. This new silence was too heavy for her to bear. She looked out the window at Lot 48, unable to meet Ann's eyes. Ann's living room was too bright, and it forced her eyes closed. Ann just watched her.

"Can we just study some other time, Ann?" April said quietly.

"Yeah, of course." Ann nodded. "It's late. Why don't you just sleep on the couch, and I'll drive us to work tomorrow."

April exhaled an "OK" and retrieved a white, clean blanket from the opposite couch. She laid down and slung the blanket over her. Ann went to turn out the lights.

"Ann?" April spoke, but didn't open her eyes.

"Yeah?"

"Do you eat meat?"

Ann was taken aback. "Umm, no. Not for a few years…. Why?"

"Eating meat is gross," April said, her voice nearly a whisper against the pillow. She frowned. "I'm not gonna do it anymore."

Ann wasn't sure what to say. April must have been exhausted; she wasn't making sense. "OK April," she said quietly.

She turned the lights off, and for a moment watched April in the dim street light coming through the windows.


	3. The Only Human Being Left

_**Author's Note:** There aren't any reviews yet - but reviews (positive or critical) are appreciated greatly! Thanks again for the great beta-work of Driftwoodsun. _

* * *

April wasn't sure where she was when she woke to a warm hand on her shoulder. The room was too bright and she was groggy – she hadn't had anything to drink, but she felt hungover. Once her eyes adjusted, she saw Ann holding a mug.

"There's cream and sugar in the kitchen," Ann said gently, setting the cup down on the coffee table.

April sat up, pushing her hair out of her face. "I take it black."

Ann went back to the bedroom to finish getting ready while April was left to stare out the window, hunched over her coffee with both hands, taking short sips so she didn't burn herself. She needed caffeine desperately, hoping it would overcome her headache and exhaustion. There was a part of her that was grateful for last night; the catharsis had been painful and embarrassing, but it was catharsis all the same, and she felt better.

Ann was still here, and wasn't repulsed at how ugly and raw she had been. She didn't understand how that was possible, but she was grateful.

All the same, the wounds were still too recent to reopen, and she prayed that last night didn't come up, not yet. They didn't speak until it was time to get in the car, and she felt lucky. She laughed caustically under her breath; if that was the kind of luck she had, it's no wonder everything was a mess.

They drove in silence for most of the way. When they crossed Main Street, they saw a huge group of people waving signs protesting the new soda tax. One of them shouted something about tyranny. Another had a sign that read "SEARCH 'SODA TAX CONSPIRACY' ON ALTA VISTA." Ann had noticed the protesters in the same spot last week, but there were more of them now.

At the next stoplight, Ann cleared her throat. "Did you still want to study tonight?"

April wasn't sure if Ann genuinely wanted to know, or if this was her way of getting April to call it off so she could be left alone. She wasn't sure what to say, until she thought of the alternative: a night alone in a dark house – she wouldn't even hear the muffled sound of Ben marathoning Star Trek in his room and practicing his Dothraki through the thin walls. "I guess," she said. "Is that OK?" April was still turned away, watching the town go by out of the passenger window.

Ann smiled. "That sounds good." Without thinking, she reached a hand over towards April's, but stopped and awkwardly grabbed her coffee out of the cup holder instead. She was glad April hadn't seen.

Part of April wanted to make some remark about how desperate Ann must be for company, but the usual urge was gone, and she wasn't sure what was replacing it.

* * *

Ann walked into the main office to grab the lunch she had stashed in the mini-fridge that barely worked. She had a faint headache, like she usually did when she didn't sleep much, but was still feeling better than she had all week.

Donna spoke up as she entered. "Ron wants to see you in his office."

"Oh," Ann said, and quickly made eye contact with April, who just shrugged.

She walked in and nodded at Ron, looking up from his computer. "Sit down, Hanson," he said.

"It's still Perkins, Ron…" She gave a weak smile and took a seat.

Ron furrowed his brow, and glanced around his desk as if someone had stolen his land mine, but shook it off quickly. "I've just gotten word that there are going to be budget cuts for all the departments. You're at part time, and it doesn't look good. Right now they're searching for things to cut, and if it's not full time, it looks expendable."

"So, do I still have a job?"

"Nobody's talking about layoffs," a smile began to crack beneath Ron's mustache, "yet. But it could happen. Moving up to full time is your best shot at keeping your job."

"Ron, I can't work at the hospital full time _and _the Health Department full time."

Ron shrugged. "It looks like you've got a decision to make."

She stared at her lap. The headache wasn't so faint anymore. The brief feeling of lightness she'd had earlier was now just a shadow.

Ron couldn't tell if Ann was listening or not. "Let me know by Friday, OK?" He cocked an eyebrow; this meeting had gone on longer than he wanted, and he was ready to get back to not having people in his office.

"Sure," Ann mumbled, and got up. April pretended not to have been leaning over her desk to hear better, but slyly glanced up at Ann as she walked out, her face unreadable.

Ron appeared in the doorway, and April gave him a look. "I simply told her about the budget cuts," he said, and shrugged.

"I hope you didn't act too excited about her job maybe going away," April said defensively.

"April, _your_ job is safe right now," Ron said, frowning sharply.

She was already up, her jaw clenched. "I hate this town," she muttered.

* * *

It took a while, but she finally saw Ann walking down the second floor hall, her hands in her pockets. April said from behind her, "Hey Ann, where are you going?"

Ann already felt beaten down, and couldn't deal with April piling on. "Your mother's butt, April," she threw back in irritation with a mocking wave of her hand, without turning around. April flinched and paused. She wondered if this was always what it felt like to be on the receiving end of one of her barbs.

She recovered and hurried over to Ann's side. As soon as April caught her eye, Ann stopped. "Sorry. You didn't do anything," she said.

"I kind of liked it," April said, lying.

"It's just this day," Ann sighed, shaking her head. "April, I don't know if I can help you study tonight."

"Oh," April said, now adding the feeling of disappointment. Right now the prospect of Ann being upset felt like one of the last threads breaking, and she pushed on. "Maybe we could just talk." She bit her lip. "I mean, if you want to."

"Yeah… I guess I do need to talk."

* * *

Halfway through the drive to Ann's house, April finally spoke up. "So, do you know what you're going to do?"

Ann shrugged. "Not yet. I can't think at work. I… I think I might just go on a walk. Alone, I mean."

"OK." April bit the inside of her cheek. As she watched the town out her window, she sulked, wondering why Ann wanted to get away from her so badly. And the more Ann seemed to push her away, the more she followed her. The prospect of Ann hating her felt unbearable.

How was this happening? Where was this strange desire for Ann's approval coming from? April looked down at her hands – long fingers with chipped black nail polish – like they were the hands of a stranger.

"I hope that's OK," Ann said gently. "I won't be gone long. You can help yourself to whatever's in the fridge until I get back." Ann glanced over at April and flashed her a genuinely affectionate smile.

With that April was flush with relief. It wasn't that Ann wanted to get away from April – she was driving her to her own _home_, after all, April reminded herself – she just needed some time to think. April relaxed, knowing that soon she'd be in Ann's home, waiting for her to return.

* * *

Ann had left for her walk, and now her home was quiet. April wasn't sure what she'd do alone in Ann's house. It was bright and tidy as usual. She wondered if Ann cleaned every day.

She drifted into the kitchen. She should have been hungry, but wasn't, and wondered if she should fix something for Ann. She measured out two scoops of coffee, and put them into the machine. Soon the first drops were sizzling at the bottom of the thin glass of the pot.

April wondered what Ann would decide. If she quit the Health Department, would April see her until Leslie returned? The thought made her uneasy. Through some strange twist of fate, Ann seemed like the only human being left in Pawnee. April wasn't sure what the rest of them were.

She wandered over to the window, looking out left and right, hoping she could see Ann walking down the street, as if that would tell her something about Ann's decision. She craned her neck, but all she could see was the empty flatness of Lot 48.

April didn't want Ann to leave her government job, just down the hall from the Parks department. She was coming to terms with that slowly. But now that she had admitted it, all she could feel was how out of her hands the decision was, and an impending nausea.

She fought against the nausea; there was surely something she could do. She might be able to sway Ann. The conversation came fully formed in her imagination – Ann would waffle, and April could make a good case for the Health department job; Ann would be impressed that April cared either way, since she was normally so reticent; and it would be just enough to get Ann to stay. She had a momentary respite from the nausea.

She walked into Ann's bedroom and laid down on the made bed; it felt cool against her skin as she stared at the ceiling. The little fantasy she had just cooked up was just that, and she berated herself for always living in her head.

She shifted onto her side, and looked into Ann's meticulous closet. Something caught her eye: a box in the back that said ANDY. Upon walking into the closet, she saw two more boxes, labeled TOM and MARK. They were nearly empty. Suddenly she remembered the garage sale for Jerry; the boxes had been full then. She stared at the boxes and winced. Flannel. Expensive facial cream. Architecture Digest.

Standing there in the closet, staring into those boxes, she felt the nausea return, intensely. But now it was directed at herself – she wanted to make Ann stay for her own selfish (and maybe crazy) reasons. Ann had had enough of that. She resolved it quickly: Ann would make the decision for herself, and she was going to listen, and help her think it through as best she could. She made herself promise to offer advice only if Ann asked. It was what Ann deserved. Ann deserved to be her own person.

* * *

Just then she heard the key in the door, and went back to the kitchen. Ann came in slowly, hair a little disheveled from the windy night, and met April's eyes. "Hey."

"Hey," April replied. "I made coffee."

"Thanks," Ann said, managing a weak smile as she fell into the couch, tired. April joined her on the other side, pulling nervously on the corner of her yellow cardigan.

"So, I've thought it over…" Ann said, glancing at April who was attentively listening. "The hospital means a lot to me… but Leslie does, too. I mean, I already have lunch over there every day, it'll be easier." She swallowed. "Leslie got me this job, and she loves that I work there; I just… can't bear to disappoint her." Ann finished, resigned.

"I'm sure that Leslie will be still be your friend if you don't work at the Health Department anymore," April said. "You guys were friends before that."

"I know, it's just… Can you imagine what Leslie would think? When she first told me about the job and I wasn't sure I wanted it we had a huge fight about it."

April couldn't believe what she was hearing; was Ann stopping her career as a nurse just to not disappoint Leslie? A couple of mocking comments were at the ready, but she pushed them down. She could make the point more delicately.

"Look Ann," she began in a measured tone, "I don't really know you. But it seems like this is a big decision, and it doesn't really matter what anyone else thinks." She paused. "It's about who you are. Not who Leslie is, or anyone else."

Ann bit her lip; disappointing Leslie was still nearly unthinkable to her.

April's frustration was getting the better of her, and her voice gained an edge. "Ann," she prompted, glaring a little, "what do _you _want?"

Ann looked so melancholy, and didn't say anything. April cursed her ragged nerves for getting the best of her, and tried to make amends clumsily by putting her hand on Ann's. Her tone was gentler. "Just be honest with yourself." She was still cold from the night outside. April removed her hand, feeling self-conscious, the cold of Ann's fingers lingering on hers.

Ann wasn't always able to be honest with herself; in moods like this her head was a foggy mess. But she wanted to be honest – not with herself, so much, but with April. Her head cleared. "Sometimes," she began hesitatingly, thinking it over, "when I work at the hospital, I'll catch something the doctor misses, or I'll talk with someone whose brother or daughter or whatever is sick, and"—Ann almost sounded surprised—"I'll help them." She looked out the window. "Not always, I mean… there's a lot of bullshit there. Paperwork and stuff. But sometimes, I feel like I'm doing something right."

She continued, "That feeling doesn't last that long. But when I have it, I don't have so much trouble sleeping."

"Maybe," April tried to say casually as she shrugged, "you should do the thing that lets you sleep at night."

Ann finally looked back to April. "Yeah," she said quietly, and as the decision sat, she slowly smiled, "Yeah, OK."

Ann looked at April, a little wonderstruck, and impulsively hugged her. "Thank you, April." April rolled her eyes – only in case Ann was looking – but couldn't help smiling, too.

"Hey Ann, you know those boxes you have in your closet?"

"Umm, yeah, why?"

"You could donate them Goodwill."

Ann was perplexed, but went along with it. "Yeah, I should. I mean, I will."

"Cool," April nodded, and got up from the couch, waiting for Ann.

"What, now?"

"Yeah."

"April, it's like midnight, I don't think Goodwill is even open right now."

"We'll leave the stuff at the door, nobody will see. Let's go to Goodwill, Ann."

Ann smiled. "Go get the boxes." Ann went to the kitchen trash, and fished out the small heavy stack of magazines she had put in there a couple days earlier.

April put the boxes onto the counter, and Ann put the magazines into the top box.

There was no traffic and the car ride was quick. They pulled up to Goodwill, and looked around to make sure no one else would see. There was no one in the parking lot. A scratching came from the alley next to them, but it might have been a raccoon. They got out of the car and shoved the boxes against the front door. Ann was headed back to the car when she heard a crashing, and whipped around to see one of the boxes tip onto its side. "Shit!" Ann whispered, laughing. "Go go go!" April said, and with racing hearts they scrambled back into the car and drove toward home. For once they didn't mind that they were alone in the night.


	4. A Tightening Knot

"DAY-UM," Jean-Ralphio's voice broke the tranquility of their morning as Ann and April walked into the office. "Turn down the thermostat because it just got hot in he-yah!" April and Ann exchanged glances.

Jean-Ralphio shimmied over to April. "C'mon, babygirl, how come nothing ever happened between us?"

April rolled her eyes. "Probably because… " she shook her head, "no, there are too many reasons to choose from."

"Ouch! Girl, how can you be so hot and yet so cold? Amirite Tom?" Tom just laughed.

Jean-Ralphio switched his attention to Ann. "What about you, sweetheart, why you gotta be so cruel to my man Tom? And to _me_? I can see you turning down one beautiful man, but two? What's the holdup here?"

April stepped in. "Ann's a nurse, Jean-Ralphio, so if she wants to come into contact with herpes, she can, and she won't even have to sleep with you. Also, one time, I saw a severed goat's head. It was way prettier than you."

"OK, OK, let's all just chillaxify ourselves…" He mentioned something about taking Tom's "go-go mobile" to a new Sharper Image store opening at the mall, and they left.

Ann leaned over to gently bump her shoulder into April's as a covert thank you; April was surprised she could feel the warmth of Ann's arm through her cardigan.

Ron appeared in the doorway of his office. "April, Ann. Care to join us?"

"Who's us?" Ann said, as she walked in to see Leslie on Ron's computer through Skype.

"Ann!" Leslie shouted. "Ron told me that you might go up to full time! Congratulations!"

Ann waved at the computer awkwardly . "Hi Leslie. Umm, about that…" Her voice wavered; everything felt a little out of control. Ann turned to Ron, "Sorry, this isn't how I wanted to do this," and back to Leslie. "I think…" she looked to April, who was watching from the doorway, "I mean, I _am_, going back to the hospital. I'm quitting the Health Department."

"What are you talking about? It's been your lifelong dream to work in local government!"

"Nope. I think you're thinking—"

"Ann, you love working here. You eat lunch here five days a week!"

"That's because I work here three days a week, and the other two I come to see you." For the first time, Ann was struck by how unfair it was that she always came to city hall to eat lunch, and Leslie so rarely came to the hospital.

"Ann, you beautiful thwarter of expectations, I know you'll come around," Leslie said. Ann just sighed.

"Leslie," Ron interrupted, "we really need to talk about the budget cuts; there's a lot of pressure right now for the council to slash things to the bone."

"Don't get too excited, Ron, we're going to put a stop to that. One second – hey, where's April?"

"Here," April spoke up and stepped forward. Meanwhile, Ann and Ron stepped outside the office to talk.

"April!" Leslie grinned, "I've got someone who wants to see you!"

Andy entered the frame as he took the seat, and Leslie stood behind him.

"Hey babe! How are things there?"

"They're OK," April shrugged. She felt guilty for being so touchy with Andy before he left, but she couldn't muster the energy to make it up to him now. "How's Indianapolis?"

"Umm, good. Although I dropped the cell phone you bought me into a pond when I was trying to take a picture of a turtle. So, I'm _probably _not gonna be able to get it back..."

April tried not to be irritated, and cast around for a silver lining. "It must have been a pretty cool turtle."

"Naw, it turned out to be a rock."

"Oh. So, how's the court stuff going?"

"It's going so good!"

Leslie, standing behind Andy, cut in: "Well—"

Andy backpedaled, "Or, well, not 'good' as in really good, more like 'good' as in we haven't, uh, lost… Yesterday the lawyers kept making rejections—"

"—_objections_—" Leslie corrected.

"objections, and the judge kept staining the objections—"

"—_sus_taining the objections—"

"sustaining the objections. But, uh, it's all good, we're gonna file a malfunction—"

"—_injunction_—"

"—and we'll be back in a few days!"

April felt a little queasy at the prospect of Andy returning so soon. She needed a little more time. She wasn't sure for what, but she knew she needed more time.

"Well," Leslie said gently, "I don't know if we'll be back in a few _days_…"

"Weeks?"

"Umm…" Leslie bit her lip.

Andy's eyes widened. "Oh God, Leslie – will we have to live here for _years_?"

"No, no, no, it's just – it's taking longer than we thought it would." Leslie took back the seat in the front of the screen, smiling. "But never fear! I'll have you two lovebirds back together as soon as I can."

April tried a smile. She was glad Andy wasn't really here. If he had been, he would have been able to tell that it was fake.

* * *

Ann was silent on the drive home with April. It had been hard to muster the energy to care at work, knowing that the job was over in a few days. She had half-assed everything; she doubted the e-mails she sent in the last half-hour had even been coherent. And now all she could think of was how disappointed Leslie would be in her, in every incomplete report, and the soon-to-be-empty office.

They passed Main Street, and once again the protestors were there, twice as many as last time. A few stood and yelled at the oncoming traffic; the rest were slumped in collapsible chairs, holding signs. One said "ZORP HATES BIG GOVERNMENT."

Maybe Leslie wouldn't be disappointed, or not for long. She was a happy person; she bounced back quickly.

Somehow the prospect of Leslie being disappointed didn't bring on any shame, but only a dull irritation. Maybe it was because she was emotionally exhausted at the end of the work day. But she hoped it was because she really was doing the right thing, and Leslie was wrong. It was a peculiar feeling, hoping your best friend was wrong. As she drove she felt her jaw, clenched, and realized just how upset she was getting, turning this over in her mind. What kind of person was she to be upset at her best friend like this? She chastised herself for not being more patient, and kinder, and better. At last she felt it, like a tightening knot in her stomach – shame. Not shame at disappointing Leslie, but at how she had been thinking of the person who was supposed to be her best friend. It made the fading day look bleaker, and the approaching clouds seem darker. _Great, Ann_, she thought, _you're the kind of person who almost started hating her best friend, and really for nothing more than being herself._

April was grateful that Ann hadn't pushed a conversation, which left her to watch the town go past, her forehead leaning against the window. She was equally grateful that she wasn't going home to Andy.

A dull wave of guilt hit her. Andy hadn't done anything – at least, nothing except be Andy – and here she was, glad not to deal with him. The worst part was she didn't really know why. Maybe this was just a sign that they needed some time apart. Lots of couples did. And it didn't always mean something bad; people who were perfectly happy needed personal time, and they came back happier than ever.

The thought didn't get very far; she knew that wasn't it. They passed a dilapidated storefront with a sign advertising psychic readings. Before Andy left they had been occupied with different things; April had been studying a lot and even working a little overtime. And when they spent time together, for April there was a quick irritation laying ready just below the surface. In the beginning her patience had been a deep well, constantly replenishing. It took something extreme for it to run out. Now it was shallow, always on the verge of going dry.

She couldn't shake the feeling that she should be ready to accept him back with open arms. She had been practically desperate to see him when she had gone to DC. What was different? It's true, this time she had been annoyed with him before he left. But they hadn't even had a fight. And that was a week ago. Shouldn't this uncomfortable feeling, this defensive desperation for privacy, have gone away by now? What was wrong with her?

_What a terrific wife you are_, April thought to herself sarcastically. She fixated on the word "wife." She mouthed it silently. She was his _wife_. It didn't feel that way. There had been a wedding, and she had cried, and hugged Leslie, and even Natalie. Who was the person who had done that? Now it seemed strange and insignificant, like a story that someone else tells you about.

Ann pulled into her driveway, turned off the car, and broke their trip-long silence. "Sorry I'm not better company right now," she said. "It's just been a weird day. I'm sorry."

April shook her head. "Sorry about taking up your evening with studying. I guess that's boring for you or whatever."

"No, it's not. April, you really don't need to apologize. I don't mind it at all. Hopefully I won't be a mess and we'll actually get to study tonight. I'm… I'm sorry about that, by the way."

"Don't be sorry. Really, you don't need to apologize."

She was right – and April wasn't the one who needed an apology. But somehow it felt important, just to say it. "I guess it just feels better to apologize… for something, at least." Ann shrugged.

April nodded almost imperceptibly. The confusion and the shame had pushed her own apologies to the surface as well. "Yeah," she said, and looked down, "me too."


	5. Circle of Light

That evening Ann began looking over April's textbook while April made them sandwiches in the kitchen. For once April could finally put mayonnaise on her sandwich. She and Andy were usually low on cash when they went grocery shopping, and Andy thought that if they were going to get any condiment, it should be the jars of whipped marshmallow he loved. He claimed it could substitute for mayo, but April would never put that to the test.

"I guess I'm pretty lucky," Ann said from the couch as she neared the end of the chapter, "I only need to know how to heal one species."

"The crappiest species…" April scoffed, though for the first time there was a hint of humor in her voice.

Ann chuckled softly. "OK, tell me when you're ready to get quizzed, so we can get to some_ Sex and the City_."

"OK, let's do it," April sat down with her mouth full and handed Ann her sandwich.

When they studied, it reminded Ann of how things were when she was in school only a few years ago. The universe had seemed wider then. She could have gone down so many different paths, and she thought she could see them all. But with every passing year, those paths faded away, and the world got a little smaller. There wasn't much room in her life for what was new. Everything had shrunk down to a little circle of light in the dark night.

* * *

April took another sip of coffee, and set her mug down next to her empty plate. While Ann was in the shower, April wondered what Wilmington would be like; now that she was studying with Ann, she could finally let herself do a little bit of fantasizing.

Doing that was dangerous. Her childhood had been constant fantasizing about what life was like outside of Pawnee. There were other places, which she had only heard of but imagined vividly. She thought about how she would slip into those places, and no one would have known where she had come from, or who had she been. She could have lied; she could have said she was from anywhere. Nobody could have found out, because she never would've come back here. She hadn't even had a yearbook photo taken – any traces of her would have been easy to clean up. And then all she would have needed was a bus ticket.

She had spent so much time in these fantasies that she never managed to get out of Pawnee. But things were different now – Ann was here, helping her study.

The pleasant thought was interrupted by some of the old nausea coming back. After Friday, Ann wasn't going to work in the same building – not even the same part of town – as her. Her thoughts coalesced around a single worry: Was Ann going to help her study anymore?

"More coffee?" Ann's voice came from behind April, startling her. Ann was toweling off her damp hair.

"Yeah, thanks," April mumbled, embarrassed. "Umm, hey."

"Yeah?"

"So," April started sheepishly, "are we still going to study, even after you go back to the hospital full time?" April picked at her sleeve.

"Yeah, of course. Sorry, I just assumed we would." Ann smiled, and she felt a minor rush of relief.

"Thanks," April said, not meeting her eyes. Ann returned to the couch, and handed April a fresh cup. For the first time in a while, everything felt OK.

Talking to Ann was becoming some sort of strange compulsion. April kept thinking back to the night when she confessed that maybe she and Andy had gotten married too soon, after all. The next morning she had felt some embarrassment, but all that was dwarfed by immense relief. Relief to let someone know – but also just to feel _something. _She felt it again the night she helped Ann decide whether to quit or not. For once she could let someone in, and let them see the parts of her she kept to herself. Now those discussions were becoming the high points in her recent life – at least, as far back as she cared to think. She fixated on the rawness of that disclosure, treated it as if it were the only good thing in the world. She had become addicted to catharsis.

April looked into the steaming black coffee, and blurted out: "I don't want Andy to come back yet."

Ann nodded. "Sorry, I was going to ask you about how things were with him. I just didn't know… if you wanted to talk about it."

"No, we can talk, I just… it sucks. I feel so…" April had the word, but it was hard for her to spit it out. "Guilty. All the time. Every time I start enjoying that he's not here, and… I can't stop feeling this way." April just shook her head. "He's gone and I, I really like it. What the fuck is wrong with me?"

"Well," Ann started, "sometimes couples need time apart. It can be healthy to—"

April stopped her: "It's more than that."

Ann nodded.

"Look, he's not a bad person. He's a good person. But… he's not an adult. And he's not like me."

"So what does that mean for you two?"

"I don't know," April slouched forward. "I can't ask for some time apart; we've already got that. I can't divorce him – he hasn't even done anything. God, I'm such a fuck up. And I'll have fucked up _his_ life, too."

"April, nobody knows who they are when they're 21. Everybody fucks up."

"Yeah, well, most youthful indiscretions don't exactly turn into divorces."

Ann frowned. "I think… I think you're being unfair to yourself. April, you and Andy – it wasn't crazy for you to think it would work out. It wasn't stupid. Andy's a good person, and you are, too. And you're both compatible in a lot of ways. But…" Ann shrugged, "people grow up. And sometimes they grow apart. Look, if you weren't changing, that would be a problem. But you are. And you're growing into an even better person."

"Great," April slumped back, "so now I'm supposed to think that Andy's a worse person—"

"No," Ann said gently. "Not worse. Different."

"Different," April repeated the word, trying it out.

Ann understood. And for some incomprehensible reason, April thought, Ann didn't hate her.

* * *

The next night, after they had studied, Ann's living room was lit only by the blue flickering light of the TV as they sat on the couch.

"Ugh, I want to impale Carrie on a rusty stiletto for cheating on Aidan," April said, emptying her wine cooler.

"That's really gross," Ann said, scrunching up her face thoughtfully, "but I kind of want to, too. Aidan is _way _too good for her."

"Seriously." The DVD went back to the menu. "Hey, do you have ice cream?"

"Yeah, I think so," Ann said.

April got up, and opened the fridge, creating a slice of pale white light in the kitchen. "You have hot fudge? And maraschino cherries?! Holy shit, Ann, you have all good toppings."

"Yeah," Ann replied sheepishly, "after I broke up with Chris I kind of stocked up."

"What do you want on your sundae?" April asked.

"Whatever you're putting on yours," Ann said, putting the previous disc away and looking for the next one.

"OK, I just hope you're ready for this level of ice cream awesomeness."

"I'm ready, Charlotte," Ann joked.

"Ugh, I can't believe you think I'm a Charlotte," April said as she put the ice cream away.

"Well, you're not a Carrie—"

"—thank God—"

"—and you're not really a Samantha—"

"—'cause you're Samantha, except you make her look like a prude…"

"Ha, ha," Ann replied sarcastically.

"Why can't I be Miranda?" April asked, pouring sprinkles over the hot fudge.

"You're not an uptight workaholic. Also, you're way prettier than Miranda is supposed to be."

April smiled a little. "Umm, ok, sundaes are ready." She brought Ann her bowl , who looked down at the massive sundae, impressed. April sat down on the couch with hers as the episode began to play.

"This is so bad for us," April said. "We're totally going to _die_ of massive coronaries from our arteries being coated with hot fudge cholesterol. Or just get grotesquely fat."

"Eh, you're a married woman, you can let yourself go," Ann said.

"That's the plan." The ice cream was making April cold, and she tossed a light blanket over her legs; Ann got under the blanket, too, as she took another spoonful of sundae. "How many more seasons are there?" April and Ann weren't touching, but April could feel the faint warmth of Ann's body underneath the blanket, like a quietly buzzing magnetic field between them.

"After this one? Three."

"Nice," April said, enjoying the heady feeling of too much sugar.

* * *

Ann dropped April off at work on Thursday before going to the hospital. Usually April hated walking into the office in the morning. And for good reason; it was the moment which marked the longest possible time before she could leave for the day. But on Thursday she didn't mind it so much. She still would have preferred not to be there, but it was more bearable than usual. Maybe she'd have time to leave fake voice messages telling people to report to a room on the fourth floor that doesn't exist.

"April," Ron said as she walked in. "Can I see you in my office?"

"Sure," April said, and slung her bag over her chair. Something seemed off; Donna wasn't at her desk, and Jerry was just staring down at his keyboard, a little more blankly than usual.

"Here is a cup of coffee," Ron said, and pushed the cup over to her side of his desk. "It is black, as you prefer it."

Ron wasn't usually this nice. "Ron, what's going on?"

Ron took a second to find a nice way of putting it, but couldn't. "The City Council just passed the new budget. You're being let go."

April didn't know what to say. "Who's going to be in charge of animal control?"

"Apparently no one. And it's not just animal control, it's across the entire city government. Donna's been let go, too. Jerry, Tom. Pretty much everybody, actually."

"Did Leslie vote? We need to get a hold of Leslie."

"She voted. She's doing everything she can. But she's alone on this one. She's in the middle of a recall, and it's not the time to do something unpopular."

April bit her lip.

"But," Ron continued, "she said that she wanted to make sure you have a place to stay if you can't afford your place now." Ron placed a key next to April's untouched cup of coffee. "She says you should just move your stuff to her house, and stay as long as you want."

April was having a hard time focusing. She reached out and picked up the key.

"Did they fire you, too?"

"I'm the department head, so… no," Ron said quietly.

"OK," April said, trying to deal with what was happening. "How long is the shutdown going on for?"

"It's not a shutdown like the one a few years ago, April. This is the budget. This is how things are going to be from now on. I'm… sorry."

April could see that this was hard for Ron. But she couldn't resist pointing out the obvious: "At least you got what you wanted."

"April…" Ron started slowly, "I'm a man of principle. I believe a good and efficient government wouldn't even have the jobs that we occupy. But, I also consider all of you my… friends. And I do not enjoy seeing this happen to my friends." For the first time since she had known him, Ron looked sad.

April got up slowly, and left his office. The key felt cold in her palm. Now it was just her – Jerry was gone now, too, and he had taken his framed desk pictures with him. On Tom's desk was a pile of papers that spilled onto his keyboard and chair, down to the floor.


	6. Make It Through

It was hard for Ann to believe that she had only been on shift for a few hours. Her first task of the morning was to remove glass from the hand of a grizzled old man wearing a bathrobe, who kept giving weird names like "Charon" to the instruments she was using. The rest had been a maze of paperwork and patients, plus the usual smell of the cheap cleaning fluid mopped onto the white tile floors. After April had called her, she waited anxiously on a bench outside of the ER doors, and picked at her lunch. It was hard to have an appetite some days at the hospital.

Ann hadn't noticed April walking up, slouched over, hands in the pockets of her hoodie. April removed her earbuds and sank down next to Ann on the bench. "Hey," April said.

"Hey," Ann said. It was usually pretty hard to read April, but she was getting better at it, and she could tell April was genuinely upset. "So that's it? Everyone's laid off?"

"Everyone but Ron," April scoffed, but then softened her tone. "I guess you got out of there just in time. Hey, at least you don't have to go in tomorrow for your last day."

"Yeah. There's that." That sat in silence for a moment. "So, what are you going to do?"

"First I have to move out," April said sourly, "Andy and I can't afford the rent on that house if we're not going to get paid."

"Oh," Ann said. "Are you moving back in with your parents?"

"No Ann," April glared, "I'd prefer not to have to slit my wrists with a rusty saw."

So much for the friendship they had been building up – or, at least, Ann thought they had been building. Ann looked down, and didn't say anything. Now it was back to this.

April recoiled at herself. "I'm sorry, Ann." Ann didn't look up. She put her hand on Ann's. "Ann, I'm sorry."

Ann looked up; April's eyes were glassy with nascent tears. Ann gently squeezed April's hand, and tucked a strand of windblown hair behind her ear. "I know. It really sucks."

April exhaled a breath.

"What's the plan, then?" Ann asked.

"Ron gave me a key to Leslie's place," April said. "She said I can move in there until I find another job. But I don't know how I'm going to move my stuff."

"You don't have much stuff. We can do it together."

Her eyes weren't so watery now. "Can we do it soon? I just, I want to get out of there. I really want to get out of there right now, Ann."

"Yeah," Ann smiled. "We'll do it tonight."

"I think some of the guys from work would help if we asked," April said.

Ann shook her head. "We can do it. We're strong enough."

* * *

They shoved April's mattress into the corner of Leslie's living room, and Ann flopped down onto it. She hadn't remembered being this tired in a long time. She was starting to see things – the popcorn texture of Leslie's ceiling looked like a constellation of stars. April laid down, a little more gingerly, onto the mattress next to Ann. Ann closed her eyes, trying not to be self-conscious about the fact that she smelled like the Hospital and Redbull.

"That's everything," April said.

"Thank God." Ann didn't think she had anything left in her. She wished she had tomorrow off – she wasn't going back to the Health Department for her last day, thankfully – but the Hospital needed her back for a late shift. At this point, though, she really didn't care. The next shift at the hospital might as well have been next year. All she could focus on was going to sleep; she could sort out things – anything – once she had slept.

"You can sleep here in my bed if you want," April suggested. "And I'll sleep in Leslie's bed. That way you won't have to drive."

Sleeping here didn't appeal to Ann – going home and sleeping in her own bed, like she always did, was the only thing that would mean that this day was truly, finally over. "Thanks. I think I want to sleep at home, though."

"Sure," April said. "Can I ride home with you? I'm kind of worried about uncovering Leslie's blood-soaked shrine to Hillary Clinton," she said, fidgeting, staring up at the ceiling.

Ann's phone beeped, and she took it out of her pocket. "Looks like she heard you," Ann joked, looking at the text. "She says they'll be home in… a couple of days. That's… new." Ann tensed, and she thought she could sense April clam up as well. She was too tired to really process this; she felt like she was being pushed under by the weight of it all.

A new text came in. "She thinks she can get everyone's jobs back," Ann said, and closed her eyes.

April made a non-committal sound. She was closing her eyes, too.

Ann hadn't said it with much confidence. Leslie was still technically in the middle of a recall election. Going against the majority on this would surely mean that she'd lose. If Leslie lost her Council seat, then that was it – she wouldn't have her Parks Department job to go back to. The last person who cared about government would be gone. Ann, April, Leslie, and the others had been losing for a while now, even though they had made a valiant effort against the rising tide of opposition. As Ann drifted off to sleep, her mind dwelled on that image: the tide slowly coming in, submerging everything.

* * *

Ann woke up cold, in a pitch black room, unsure of where she was. Slowly it came back to her: she must have fallen asleep in Leslie's house. She sat up and rubbed her cold, bare arms. April was asleep next to her. She wanted to go back home, and stood up slowly, trying not to wake April. She would leave a note for April, letting her know that she had gone.

But now the prospect of moving from this bed to the cold one in her home didn't sound as appealing. She looked back at April, and felt the urge to wake her, and ask if she would come. She knew it was selfish, and tried to dismiss the urge. This was where April lived now; there was no reason to wake her up, from her own bed, in the place where she now lived, and try to get her to come home with her. But despite this line of reasoning, the feeling lingered.

She valued her new friendship, if it was that, with April. And not because she had been trying for so long to get April to like her. Their friendship wasn't her doing. In a way, it didn't feel like April's doing, either. It was more like a fluke, or a product of necessity.

But now April was more than just a friend. The world had gotten smaller, and without realizing it or expecting it, April was now the biggest part of the world. She looked down at April, her face barely visible, illuminated in the faintest light. Ann could just let her sleep like this, and drive home alone. But all she could think about was April being alone here, and how she wouldn't see her again until tomorrow night at the latest. Ann felt an inner desperation that should worry her. But right now she was too beaten down to think about it; she was too tired to do anything but give in.

She placed her hand on April's shoulder. April opened her eyes slowly.

"We fell asleep. I'm going to go home," Ann said.

She was about to continue, and ask if April would come, when April sat up, and simply said: "Let's go." Ann smiled in the darkness.

The inside of Ann's car on the drive home was quiet and still as they drove through the empty night. The world was nothing but the gray of the road and yellow hue of streetlamps, punctuated by the greens and reds of stoplights, the car speeding up or slowing down.

As they entered Ann's home, Ann didn't bother to turn on any lights. April grabbed the blanket next to the couch, and laid down there in the dark. "Goodnight, Ann" she said quietly, comfortable but tired.

"Goodnight, April," Ann said as she went to her bedroom, happy that April was closer than Leslie's house, but still wishing there was a way she wouldn't be as far as the couch.

* * *

Ann woke in the late afternoon to her phone beeping. She fumbled for it, and squinted at the bright square of light in her dark bedroom. More texts from Leslie. Leslie, Ben and Andy would be back tomorrow; she'd call soon. Ann dropped the phone next to her and took a deep breath – starting off her day with that hadn't been a good idea.

She showered, trying to remember what she was supposed to do today besides work. The days felt like they were losing hours – each day after work, there was only a little meager time for her, it was waning constantly. Maybe it didn't matter. Ann couldn't come up with anything that she wanted to do today besides get through work and come home. She was drawn out of her thoughts when the hot water started to go; she must have been in the shower a while, and was running late.

She got dressed and made her way into the kitchen, trying to be quick but quiet. April was reclining on the couch, drawing on the back flap of her textbook.

"Hey," April said. "I tried not to wake you. I'm gonna clean up the kitchen…"

"Don't worry about it. Hey, so I just got a text from Leslie – she and Andy will be back tomorrow."

April's face fell, and she looked down at her flats, threadbare on the edges. "OK," April said, trying to act nonchalant.

"I have to go, but maybe when I get back—," _We can talk_, she thought, "—we can study."

April kept her eyes on her shoes. "Yeah," she said, still thinking about what on earth she was going to tell Andy.

"Umm, I'll be back around three. Sorry, it's the late shift."

"Yeah," April said again, lost in thought.

Ann lingered for a moment, and then left.

During the drive she cursed herself for not knowing what to say and not having the courage to say something more empathetic. Putting yourself out there was tough with April – she could make you feel foolish for caring – but she had to trust her if they were going to be friends. She vowed to do better.

She could see that April was being worn down by her dilemma about Andy, and the feelings of guilt that she said were with her all the time. _April just isn't sure how to talk to Andy_, Ann thought – _all April knows is that she and Andy aren't right for each other._

Or did she know that? April had mentioned that she was worried she and Andy weren't compatible – but was that the same as knowing that he wasn't right for her? Maybe Ann was bringing in her own baggage with Andy. She knew that _she _and Andy weren't right for each other. And, if she was honest, she couldn't see someone as serious and smart and complex as April being compatible with Andy. But was that really true? Or was her low opinion of Andy contaminating everything?

She arrived at the Hospital, and the rest of the night went by in a blur. The monotony was only broken up by incidents of awfulness – a piece of shit patient who grabbed her ass and the doctor who didn't believe her. After a minute, she let it drop. The world would be better if people like this were held to account, but at that moment, whether that would happen or not hung on her shoulders, and it was too much.

A few of the new interns were going out for food at an all-night diner, the only place open during the lunch break for the late shift. She kind of wanted to go with them – Ann couldn't remember the last time she had eaten with anyone, aside from April's visit yesterday. But she was awkward in groups where she didn't at least know someone, and felt self-conscious about inviting herself. She decided on a lonely lunch outside, by herself.

She had worked here for five years, and yet she still didn't feel like she knew anyone. Why had she chosen the job where she didn't have any friends? It was supposed to help her sleep at night, but it had been a long time since she had done something that let her sleep. It was a bad streak, she told herself. It would be over soon. She just had to wait it out.

On the drive home, she turned off the radio, and tried to focus her mind on what she could say to April about Andy that would help. What if April asked her what she should do? Would it be possible for her opinion of Andy not to come out? Andy wasn't a bad person – in fact, he was a better person now than when she had been with him. Ann smiled as she thought about how being with April had been good for him.

Ann drove past an upside-down shopping cart in the middle of an intersection. The few cars around at this hour crunched over the broken, wet beer bottles strewn around the cart.

No, Ann thought, there was a difference between being a sweet guy, and being the equal April needed to make it through all of this.

But she really couldn't tell April that. And Ann could be wrong – maybe Andy was so wrong for her, it was hard for her to see that he could be right for April.

Ann pulled into the driveway and shut the car door quietly. She opened the front door, and April came to greet her. "Hey," April said, with something approaching a smile on her face, and for a second it looked like April was moving to hug her.

"Hey. It smells good in here." After the cleaning fluid and old, cheap coffee at the hospital, the house smelled warm and inviting.

April gestured exaggeratedly at the table. "Behold: pizza." The delivery box was huge and the pizza was still hot.

Ann smiled. How pitiful – it was by far the best thing that had happened to her all day.

* * *

Ann got out of the shower, finally free of the smell of the hospital, and still full from the three slices of veggie pizza she had eaten. She dressed in the bathroom, and found April in the bedroom sitting cross-legged on her bed, messing with her phone. Ann joined her.

"So," Ann started, "Andy's going to be back soon."

April looked up. "Yeah."

"Are you guys going to talk? About… everything?"

"I guess," April shrugged. "I wish he was coming back after a few weeks, like they said. Then I could figure out what I want to say to him."

"Are you sure you need a few weeks? April… what do you want?"

April was silent for a moment. "I feel like I should try to make it work. I mean, we're _married_," April said with a sour expression.

"What do you want to work on?" Ann asked.

April shook her head, at a loss. "I don't even know what to talk about…"

She picked the first thing that came to mind: "He never sends the rent check off on time," April shrugged. "I remind him _every month_ and he forgets _every time_. Instead he goes off to practice with Mouserat or he watches football, or…. And I end up reminding him like I'm his fucking mother. I feel like that's what I am. He's not the adult, so I have to be. And the worst part is that he _knows _I hate it when he forgets. I've _told _him – so many times. But, I guess, for some reason that's not enough."

"OK… " Ann wasn't sure what to say. She and Andy had had the same problem, but she was trying so hard not to make this about her and how she felt about Andy. "Well, maybe he's not the right person to send off the rent check. I mean, I'm not saying that you should just do it because he doesn't do it – that's not fair to you. But maybe there's something that he can do – maybe he can cook, or do the dishes, or whatever."

April sniffed. "Yeah. Maybe. But I mean, it's not really about the rent check."

Ann nodded.

"I mean, he loves me. But when it doesn't come naturally – like with the rent – he isn't all that careful with me." April traced patterns on the bed with her hands. "And not because he's a bad guy. He's just not an adult. And I love that about him – sometimes, anyway. And in the beginning that was enough. But things have changed…. I feel like he's not going to be there when I'm upset or pissed off or whatever. And God, he wanted to be a cop so bad, and when it didn't happen, he was like some kid who didn't get what he wanted for Christmas. He was sad for like a week – and he just moved on. But I don't know what he wants now. It's like he's just… waiting for something to happen."

Ann nodded, her brow furrowed. "You wish he was ambitious?" April didn't seem like someone who cared about ambition.

"No, it's not that. I don't care _what _he wants. I just want him to want _something_. He doesn't want anything, not really."

Ann thought about talking about what it was like when she was with Andy, but held off. She wanted April to talk.

April was somber. "I keep trying to depend on him and he's just not there. And yeah, maybe I can send the rent off. But even if I do that, he still wouldn't do that for me. None of that changes _who he is_."

Ann wanted to say something positive to unburden April a little, some silver lining that would point out how Andy really could be right for her. But there was nothing like that to say now. She didn't want to assume that April and Andy couldn't be together, just because it wasn't what she would have chosen; she wanted what was best for April. "So I guess the question now is: if that's who he is, can you be with him?"

April didn't react to Ann's question; she just stared at the corner of the floor, head tilted, eyes unfocused. She breathed in and out. Ann tried not to look at April – she didn't want to pressure April into responding. In the night outside they could hear a few muffled fireworks being set off, accompanied with distant yells.

April looked up at Ann. "I don't know," she said, and looked as if she was going to cry.

Ann leaned over and tucked an errant strand of hair behind April's ear. "Just be honest with yourself," she said gently. "Can you be with him?"

It was strange – April couldn't be honest with herself, not really. But she could be honest with Ann.

She shook her head slowly. "No."

She barely got the word out before she crumpled over, her hair falling around her face, quietly crying into the mattress. Ann put a hand on April's back, feeling it rise and fall with each sob.

* * *

April had left the house around noon, careful not to wake up Ann, who had fallen asleep next to her after she had broken down and gone to sleep herself. She decided to walk from Ann's to Leslie's, though she could barely hear the music from her iPod over the cars. She tried to use the time to sort out how she was going to talk to Andy when he would get back into town. It was hot, and the constant traffic made everything smell like exhaust. She got to Leslie's house and opened the door, ready to find a quiet place to sit until Leslie and Andy got there.

"Ludgate, you sly bastard." April's felt the breath go out of her. Andy was already there – he slowly took off his Bert Macklin aviator-style sunglasses and hooked them into his collar as he stood before her in Leslie's living room. He grabbed her in a bear hug.

She tried not to be tense in his arms, and returned the hug. She took out her earbuds, and tossed her iPod onto the couch. He held her and looked into her eyes. It was impossible for him not to smile when looking into those brown eyes. "I missed you so much. I love you."

"I missed you, too," she lied.

* * *

"Maybe I'm just too sad to get this right now," Andy said, "but I don't understand what you're saying."

"I'm saying…" April stuttered – this was even harder than she thought it would be. "I'm saying that I need time to decide what I want. Being away from you kind of forced me to figure out what I really want. And I need to keep doing that."

"So you don't want to be married to me anymore?" He said, still unable to really comprehend where this was coming from.

"I'm saying… I think we should separate. For a little while. Until I figure out what I want. Until I figure out… if I want this."

"Look," Andy said, getting a little desperate, reaching out to her, "I love you more than I've ever loved anything. I will do _anything _to be with you." April couldn't look at him. "I promise you, I will fight for you. Seriously, I will fight, like, a hundred of those huge guys who hang out in that yard with the rusted cars in it."

April shook her head, still unable to meet his eyes. "I know," she said, and left.

* * *

When Ann returned home from her shift she was worried – she hadn't heard from April at all, and had called her twice. The house was dark, and April was curled up in the fetal position on the couch. Ann walked softly through the kitchen, trying not to wake her. She grabbed a protein shake from the refrigerator. The room was silent, and only a faint yellow light from the streetlamps illuminated it. Ann started walking into her room.

"I hate this," April said softly, sounding hopeless.

Ann's heart dropped and she stopped, walking slowly to sit on the couch. She gazed down at April, who squeezed herself tighter into a ball, her face contorted in pain, fragments of shadows and yellow light. Even during the last couple of weeks, she had never seen April even remotely like this, and she had no idea what to do. She almost couldn't bear to look at her.

"April…" she said, "I know it's bad right now, but… this will pass."

"No," April said simply. "It won't." April looked up at Ann, her eyes haunted. "This isn't something bad that happened to me. I can get away from that…. This is something that I've done to myself. And to Andy…" She looked away. "You can't get away from yourself. Bad things that happen to you, they go away eventually. Shame is what stays."


	7. Detachment

April woke up to sunlight in her eyes, coming through the window at a low angle. Her head was pounding and her muscles ached. She got up slowly and went to the bathroom. It seemed like she could still hear the echoes of last night's sobs in her ears.

What was it she was supposed to do today? As she stood in the bathroom with her bare feet on the cold tile, she realized that there wasn't anything she had to do. Normally that would be cause for happiness, but now it was different; she had no job, and she and Andy were separated. What to do was up to her, but this was a cruel joke; it was only up to her because there was nothing worth doing.

She wanted to go wake up Ann, but she knew it was far too early for that – Ann would be working the late shift again tonight. She wanted to go back to sleep, but she couldn't; the rawness of being awake didn't leave her with enough peace of mind to go back to bed. She thought she might be able to fall back asleep, if only she could sleep in Ann's bedroom. If she could hear the soft inhale and exhale of her breath, and be just an arm's length away from her, she could sleep. God, how pathetic had she become? Not only did she need to be around Ann all the time, now she had to sleep next to her, too.

If she was going to stay up, she'd need some music – in fact, there was one song that she wanted to hear. She looked around the couches and the coffee table for her iPod, but she had set it down at Leslie's when she saw Andy, and hadn't brought it home. If she went back to Leslie's, she might run into Andy. Could she deal with that?

She sat down on the couch. What would she do for the next six hours while Ann slept? She took in the stillness of the room, and everything was a vacuum, a place for Andy's pained voice to echo loud against the silence. No, she couldn't be alone that long – she'd have to take the chance. It was a long way to walk to hear one song, but she needed to do something, and this was the only thing she could think of. With Ann asleep, it was the only thing left.

She quietly closed the front door and started on her way to Leslie's. The day was warm and bright, and it took a minute for her eyes to adjust. After a while, she was outside of Ann's neighborhood, and walking on the edge of the sprawling shopping center. To her right she heard an awful high-pitched grinding, and saw someone pushing a shopping cart far from the store. The cart's wheels had locked up. The man shoved the cart forward push by push, the wheel screeching against the concrete. He kept his head down, putting his shoulder into the bar of the cart to make it go. Of the few people crossing the street, none paid attention. The man looked up at her; she realized she had been staring, quickly looked down, and kept walking. There wasn't much to see, anyway. There was nothing in the cart.

There weren't any clouds in the bright blue sky, and she was starting to sweat through the back of her dress. She noticed absentmindedly that a rock had lodged itself in her shoe, and walked for a block debating whether she would get it out or not before she got to Leslie's house. She didn't exactly mind the discomfort , and after last night, she figured she had no more pain left. It was an interesting sensation, after all. The pain wasn't sharp – that would have been too vivid to get through the wall she had put up. The rock in her shoe reminded her that she could feel something, after all. Maybe that's why she didn't mind the discomfort.

Or, she thought, maybe she deserved it.

It was getting closer to midday and there were more people out now. Everything she passed she regarded with a blunt, detached annoyance. The strip mall to her left was full of nail parlors and 24-hour check-cashing stores. Most of the activity was at the center, where there was a line out the door of the Paunchburger, as people stood in the sun, sweating. There was another line, almost as long, in front of the Glitter Factory. April squinted, and realized that there weren't two lines – people were filing from the Paunchburger into the Glitter Factory, and back again. It was a mistake to have left Ann's. Ann would be up soon, and she wanted to be there for it. She wasn't sure for what – she didn't have anything she needed to tell Ann, or do. She just wanted to be with her. Ann would wake up and April would make her coffee, and they would sit down at the couch and plan what they would do after Ann got back from the hospital. Ann would put her hand on April's and thread their fingers together; April would lay her head on Ann's shoulder, and let herself drift off to sleep.

Something was wrong with her. But she couldn't get too worked up over it; the numbness she felt towards the world extended toward her own mind now, too – it wasn't as if it were any less strange than the dingy scene before her. Thoughts about Ann kept coming unbidden, and it was strange. Not because she was feeling them about Ann Perkins – that was the only thing that made sense about them. It was that she was having them at all. Since when did she obsess about what it would be like to spend time with her friends? Or sleep next to them? But now it seemed obvious to her that she could never quite get rested, never fall asleep like she used to, unless she was with Ann. _It's a compulsion_, she thought – _I've got a compulsion. OK – that's pathetic. _Her own thoughts were like a stranger's; what she felt, she felt secondhand. She noted without much interest the beginnings of a headache.

By now the world was hot and noisy. A huge SUV laid on the horn at another car as it drove past her. April knew this town was made for cars. There was a dull irritation toward the cars driving past her, filled with people completely unaware of what it was like to walk this town slowly, and look lingeringly at the cheap dirtiness of it all. Life was different for people who only existed in places that were their own. Walk anywhere in this town, and you knew you weren't at home. There was still more irritation at the feeling of being out of place. As if she needed to feel any more of that.

April hadn't had any coffee before leaving Ann's – she'd been drinking a lot of it lately – and now her head was beginning to pound with each step she took. She felt tired and edgy.

As she came within sight of Leslie's house, her heart began to race. She couldn't deal with seeing Andy again; she couldn't talk with him any more right now. She walked around the side of the house, trying to look discrete, and peered into the windows. It was dark in the front room; no one seemed to be there, but she couldn't be sure. She resolved that if he was there when she opened the door, she would just turn around and walk away.

She slipped the key into the lock and opened the door quietly. It creaked a little, but only softly. The front room was empty, and she saw her iPod on the couch, and darted over to grab it. She turned and went back out, and as she closed the front door she thought she heard someone cough, but it could have been her imagination. She walked quickly across the street and around the block, head down, just in case Leslie or Andy had been somewhere in one of the bedrooms.

As the small burst of adrenaline wore off she felt exhausted, and sat down on the curb. The sun was still high in the sky and the concrete felt hot through the skirt of her dress. Across the road there was a playground with a metal chain around it and a sign that said DO NOT ENTER. She looked left and right; hardly anyone was around. She stepped over the metal chain, which swung slowly as her foot brushed it, and climbed onto the orange slide, covered in a cheap plastic arch. The arch shielded her from the sun and the rest of the world, and she shifted onto the slide, her feet dangling down, her back feeling good against the cool plastic which gave way just a little. She closed her eyes; she needed to recoup some of her strength, and then she would have the energy to make it back to Ann's.

* * *

April woke up to someone clawing at her shoulder and screeching.

"That's my spot! That's my SPOT!" An old lady, her face windbeaten and sunburned, framed by a plastic bag, screamed again.

April got up as quickly as her body still numb from sleep would let her. "Sorry," she muttered. "You should write 'Crazy bag lady's spot' so people know not to sleep here."

The old lady took the plastic bag off of her head and put it on the slide, next to the tattered backpack she had put there.

April walked away, hands in the pockets of her cardigan, and as she looked back, she saw the woman counting the meager change in her pockets, and felt sorry for her.

She checked her phone; it was nearly 5:30. There was a missed call from Ann, and she kicked herself for falling asleep. She would call her back when it was closer to her break; Ann would be at the Hospital by now.

April watched the ground beneath her feet move, and thought of the look Andy had when she had left. He was so confused, so unsure. Everything she had said had hurt him, and she didn't even say everything she could have. If she had, he would have broken. And then he would have hated her. When he reached out to her that day, she saw his hand, it had been shaking—

She forced herself to stop thinking about it. As she crossed an empty parking lot, she stepped over the remains of several ripped garbage bags, spilled out onto the pavement. A raccoon sauntered over to her left, grabbing an old bag of chips and joining a group of other raccoons by the dumpster. The trash extended to the sidewalk, and crunched under her feet.

After walking a while, April realized the feeling low in her stomach was hunger, and went into the gas station on the corner. The speakers were faintly playing a pop song from years ago – not an oldie, but definitely not something anyone listened to now. She couldn't quite place it, but maybe that was because of the fogginess in her head. She went up and down the aisles, and out of the corner of her eye she thought she saw a package labeled HARM CRACKERS. She looked closer; no, it said "Graham Crackers." She rubbed her eyes. Everything in the two aisles seemed to have meat in it. She picked up a small pack of crackers – somehow even they had chicken in them. (_What a wondrous world we live in_, she thought.) She settled on an apple pie slice that was pre-wrapped, and paid for it with the change in her pockets. She ate it as she walked; it tasted like freezerburn.

She put in her earbuds and flicked through the songs on her iPod until she reached Cold White Christmas by Casiotone for the Painfully Alone. She wondered how many times she could replay it before she got to Ann's. It fit in every way, except that, unlike in the song, here it was boiling hot. She snorted humorlessly at how nothing could manage to be perfect – not even misery.

* * *

Ann took her hand off the steering wheel and shook it out as she drove. Her wound still stung – a careless intern had left a surgeon's scalpel on a tray balanced on the edge of a bed, and when she picked it up the scalpel sliced the outside of her thumb.

She checked her phone; she would barely have enough time to call April, who had called her when she was on shift. Ann needed to be back at the Hospital before her break ended. She had enough time to pick up some groceries (which she knew she was running low on), or get a copy of her housekey made for April – but not both. So far they'd just been leaving the door unlocked for her. But even though April hadn't said anything about it, Ann wanted her to have a key. Ann didn't need to think about it; the choice really was simple. Ann pulled into parking lot of the hardware store.

* * *

April woke up from her nap on the couch when Ann came in the front door.

"Hey," Ann said.

April smiled as she opened her eyes to see Ann's face. She was tired, and there was a bandage on her thumb, but April thought she looked beautiful. She wanted to reach out to her and make her hand better; it was the compulsion again.

"Hey," April said, and watched Ann put down her bag. "What's up with your hand?"

Ann just shrugged. "Stupid mistake."

April hesitated. "Are you OK?" Had April done something wrong? April's mind raced across the possibilities, and immediately settled on one: Was her strange desperation evident even to Ann, and weirding her out?

"I just got some bad news today." April relaxed a little – maybe it wasn't her. "It looks like I'm going to be working the night shift from now on. 4:00 PM to 3:00 AM, every day."

"Oh," April said. "You're not going to be able to see Leslie, are you?"

"It's not that. Leslie texted me today, she's _obsessed_ with getting the budget reversed, and that's all she's doing. It's hard to see her anyway. No, it's…" Ann was feeling sheepish about saying it. "I won't be able to help you study if I don't get home until 3:00 AM."

"Oh," April said, trying not to hide her disappointment. "Yeah, you'll probably be too tired..."

"No, I'll adjust, I always do. I just mean, well, you won't be up."

April sat up straight. "No, I'll be up. I'll be up, Ann. I'll just sleep when you sleep."

Ann bit her lip, and felt bad. "You don't have to do that—"

"It's what I want. I want to be awake whenever you are." April was still worried about sounding too desperate, but she couldn't quite dial it back yet.

Ann looked into April's eyes for a second, seeing something there she hadn't seen before. Finally she smiled: "Cool."

April couldn't help but smile, too. They stayed like that for a few seconds, though to April it felt longer.

"Oh, before I forget…" Ann reached into her pocket with her good hand and pulled out a key, "I thought you could use this."

April took the key from Ann's outstretched hand. "Wow, nice." A key to Ann's house. She hadn't even asked for it, but here it was; the key felt warm in her palm. "You didn't have to do this…" she said.

"I know, but I was thinking of you today while I was working, and I wanted you to have it." Ann said simply.

April suddenly felt desperate and needy – she realized it was her debt to Ann, a debt she was completely unworthy of. All she could say was, "Thank you." Ann just smiled, and God she looked beautiful.

April leaned over, and after a second realized she was moving to kiss Ann on the cheek. She felt that odd detachment from her own body again. _I want to kiss Ann_, her thought echoed, feeling like it was coming from somewhere far away. It shouldn't surprise her, really – she had been behaving strangely lately. And at the moment she didn't really care. Kissing Ann might look weird to other people, but right now what they thought didn't matter to her in the least. Everything had faded away that wasn't Ann. She felt only the compulsion driving her on, and imagined how soft Ann's cheek would feel against her lips.

She leaned over.

There was one thing she did care about – what Ann wanted. Ann was the only one she had left. If she ruined the friendship they had made, by doing this and freaking her out, there would be nothing. So she changed her trajectory at the last minute and brought Ann into a hug.

Ann felt soft against her, and April's cheek rested on the warm curve of her neck. It wasn't what she wanted, but it was good, and it would have to do.


	8. Worthy Enough

"Ann?" April said, half asleep. She wasn't sure where the question came from – it was the tail end of some fragment of a dream she could feel more than remember. She sat up on Ann's couch and tossed off her blanket. The house was quiet, and Ann's bed was made. April walked into the kitchen to pour herself a cup of coffee, and leaned over the counter, watching the wisps of steam rise out of her mug. She smiled as she thought about what they would do when Ann got home. April would make them something to eat, Ann would talk about her day, and if she was tired they could sit on the couch, under a blanket. If April made it look natural, she could turn and bring her knees up, resting her feet on Ann's legs…

April blinked and rubbed her temples. These feelings for Ann were still there. She wasn't sure what she had expected – they had arrived so strangely, maybe they would have disappeared with a good night's sleep and a clear head. But they were here, and so was she, in Ann's kitchen, a key to her house in her pocket.

She wandered over to Ann's bed and laid down on top of the blankets, watching the light on the ceiling flicker with the reflected light of passing cars, noiseless. She exhaled. Was she just desperate for affection? That couldn't be it – it was only Ann that she thought of.

She closed her eyes and let the world fade away. Ann would come home. She would be happy to see April and greet her with a hug; April would let her arms linger around Ann's waist. She would lean in, her cheek grazing Ann's, before slowly turning, and press her lips against Ann's cheek. And then, after that, Ann would gently tilt her head and softly kiss the corner of April's mouth; they would stay like that for a moment, not breathing, and then Ann would brush her lips softly against April's.

April opened her eyes. She could see now that this wasn't going to go away. She pushed her legs off the bed, dangling there as she put her head in her hands. Ann couldn't possibly feel the same way; April didn't even know why _she _felt the way she did. It was all a stupid joke – there was one person in her life that could be a friend, could really be there for her, and now it was all at risk because of April's ridiculous infatuation. April started to wonder if she was doing this on purpose, deep down – a way to sabotage what little she had with Ann, like she had sabotaged her life with Andy.

April slunk back to the kitchen to get her coffee, and noticed a note on the refrigerator door:

_Come by the hospital and we'll have lunch during my break!_

_-A_

The "A" had a heart by it, and April flinched. There was no way the heart meant to Ann what it meant to April. But couldn't it? She entertained the brief hope that maybe Ann's feelings had been changing, too, evolving with hers. Perhaps April could feel things out – a lingering glance, a hand on Ann's back – and see how Ann responded.

No. There was no reason to think Ann felt the same way, and every reason to think she didn't. April looked up in to the small mirror on the wall, and noticed how tired and spent she looked. She hadn't brushed her hair yet, and she hadn't bothered to take off her make-up from yesterday, leaving an uneven smear of eyeliner by her right eye. Who would want her, anyway?

The one thing she most wanted to do was to kiss Ann, and wait. Ann might run; she might be angry; or, maybe, she would stay, and April would know that she was worthy enough to be with her. But that wasn't going to happen. There was no point. It could only push Ann away. There was now a strange ache in her; strange, because for once, it wasn't guilt.

So much for honesty, so much for their friendship. She could never tell Ann – the one person, up to this point, she thought she could say anything to.

But sometimes, April thought, more isn't in the cards. Sometimes all that's left are little moments of friendship. The rest is loneliness.

* * *

April set herself to washing the dishes in the sink; Ann could come home and the kitchen would be clean. At least April could do that for her.

She scrubbed some congealed ketchup from the last plate and placed it with the others in the dishwasher. April looked under the sink, and everywhere else, but she couldn't find the dishwasher detergent. So much for that, then. She decided to pick some up from the store, and left the plates and glasses in the dry dishwasher.

The night was chilly and she didn't see anyone outside. Wasn't it the weekend? Or was it not? Staying up to match Ann's late schedule at the hospital was making it hard to keep track of the days. If you never stepped into the daylight, there wasn't much point to keeping track, anyway. She made it through seven full plays of Cold White Christmas before getting to the grocery store, and had to cut the song off halfway through the eighth play.

The supermarket was nearly deserted, with only a few scattered bachelors picking up microwave dinners and teenagers messing around. She picked through the eggplants, looking for a good one – Ann had dressed as one for Halloween once, so she probably liked them – and put it in her basket. She could make Ann something for lunch and surprise her with it during her break. As she picked up more produce, she eavesdropped on the conversation the teenage girls next to her were having.

"No, he seriously hasn't even seen Bring It On?"

"No! Can you believe it?"

"Has he seen Bring It On 2…?"

April tried to stamp down her annoyance, and changed aisles. She grabbed some detergent and more food. On the shelf next to her was a half-eaten hot dog, resting on a box of granola bars.

She put the basket down at the self check-out, and scanned her items while the guy next to her with a barb-wire tattoo on his bicep talked to the attendant. "I'm telling you," he said, pointing a finger up for emphasis, "the Godless parasites up in the capitol will impose Sharia Law…" April had stopped paying attention because the keypad had beeped when her card was declined. She glanced around, and tried swiping the card again. It beeped again – it sounded louder this time. April wandered over to the magazines, trying to look like she might buy one, before she turned and walked quietly out of the store and back into the empty night, leaving the groceries on the station.

She walked brusquely until she was back at Lot 48, and went to sit in the center, in the darkest spot. No doubt the jackass with the tattoo would have no problem paying for _his_ groceries – it was a six-pack of fucking Icehouse, April had noticed. All of a sudden, the streetlamps around the lot and down the streets dimmed and went out, and she was left in the dark.

She sighed, and checked her phone. It would be time for Ann's break soon.

* * *

April had made her way through the darkened streets, using the screen of her phone as a flashlight, and had been waiting for a while now by the bench near the ER doors. She felt awkward that she hadn't brought anything for Ann – she hadn't brought anything for herself, either, but whatever – and checked her phone one more time.

"April!" Ann's voice sounded behind her.

April sat up and turned around, finding it impossible not to smile as she watched Ann make her way over in her scrubs. She brushed her hair behind her ear, remembering how she had looked earlier. But April's smile faded as she saw how tired and harried Ann looked.

"Hey," Ann said, "Sorry, I know we were supposed to have lunch. We've been slammed."

"Oh," April said quietly, unable to hide her disappointment. "What's going on?"

"It's the lights," Ann said, exhaling in frustration as she gestured toward the darkened streetlights. "The city has been turning them off at midnight because of the budget. We've had three car accidents come in tonight, and a girl who got stabbed outside of a 24-Hour Fitness."

"Is there anything I—" April started before a young doctor in the doorway to the ER called out for Ann, "—can do?"

Ann looked behind her, distracted. "Uh – no, no." She turned back to April, looking into her eyes. "I have to go," she frowned and exhaled. She reached out, placing her hand on April's shoulder.

After the day she had, April desperately wanted to make a snarky comment about her own luck, but it melted away when she looked into Ann's concerned eyes.

Ann pulled April forward into a hug and the dark night was replaced with the warmth of Ann's arms. April let her head drop onto Ann's shoulder; she just wanted to linger there for a long moment, taking in the scent of Ann's hair and the way her back felt pressed against her palm. But Ann let go, and started toward the hospital doors. It had been a perfectly friendly hug – about the normal amount of time for two close friends to hug. April had just wanted more, and it was hard for her not to sulk.

"I'll see you tonight, OK?" Ann said as she walked away.

"Yeah. Sure." April said, trying not to let her sudden mood change show.

The doors shut behind Ann, leaving April alone. The streetlight near her started to turn on, flickered, and went out once more.

* * *

April poured herself another cup of coffee and checked the time again. Ann would normally be home soon. She needed that, if only to have some closure to this day where everything was unfinished and disappointing.

Maybe Ann was at a diner somewhere, trying to figure out why April had been acting so strange about the hug. What if Ann asked her about the hug? What could she really say?

But April was blowing things out of proportion; Ann had hugged_ her_, and she had no way of knowing what April wanted. April had been safe, and just as she had resolved, she hadn't done anything weird to let her know. She walked to the front window and glanced out, watching for Ann's car, and resisted the urge to check the time once more.

All the same, April still dreaded Ann asking her about what she had done during the day, and how she was feeling. She could no longer be honest with Ann about that. She would try not to lie, if she could; she would gloss over her day quickly, and then ask Ann about hers. It felt like the friendship they had was dying, or shrinking with sickness. Ann could no longer be her catharsis. At least Ann could still be honest with her; April wanted to defend that against everything. But it still felt like a loss.


	9. All She Had

_**Author's Note: **__Sorry for taking so long for this chapter! Although I wrote it a long while ago, the initial draft had some big problems, very expertly helped out by the best beta-reader ever, Driftwoodsun. Hopefully they're fixed now! Thanks so much to everyone who has followed/favorited /reviewed this fic – I'm kind of amazed that anyone likes this world and this ship._

The buildings were tall and glistening, and nothing was familiar. In the bustling crowd April kept looking for Ann and everyone else, but all the faces were of strangers. Like a lost memory, slowly re-emerging, she realized that they weren't going to be here. Because this was Wilmington, and she was alone. She walked over to a café and tried to look at her reflection in the glass; but she couldn't turn, couldn't make out her own face, even in her peripheral vision. She turned back around, to take in the city. She was going to do something, if only she could remember—

"Hey, I'm home." April woke to the sound of Ann's voice and her warm hand on her shoulder.

"Hey," April said, as she tried to shrug off sleep and sit up as Ann came into focus in the blackness.

"They kept me on shift for three extra hours. Good God I'm tired…" Ann slumped into the couch next to April, and rested her head against the back of the couch. The only light on was the small lamp next to Ann, and the golden light cast her in relief against the dark room.

"You want to go to bed?" April asked.

Ann turned to April. "Yeah, soon. I just wanted to see you. It helps me sleep." She stuttered— "I mean, I wanted to see you before I went to sleep. Sorry, I guess I shouldn't have woken you up."

April shrugged. "It's cool, really," she said, genuinely glad to see Ann.

"Tell me about what you did today," Ann said, leaning her head back against the end of the couch and closing her eyes. "Tell me everything."

April couldn't tell her everything. The last waking hour had been spent gloomily obsessing about where Ann could be, and whether she had finally caught on to April's infatuation. And the rest of the day had been irritation and annoyance, leavened only by escapes into daydreams about Ann.

But she could at least tell her some things. April mentioned the girls in the grocery store, and Ann chuckled softly. April was glad to talk; in spite of her new secret, there were still times where she could relax with Ann, completely, and everything was like it had been. She mentioned little details that had happened, and she talked caustically about the inane study questions in her textbook and the bourgeois outfits in the Anthropologie catalogue that Ann got in the mail.

Ann made a soft sound to indicate that she was still listening, and shifted closer to April, her arm pressed against April's, and laid her head on April's shoulder. April's heart raced a little, but she did her best to keep a steady tone in talking about her day. The weight of Ann's body against hers made her feel self-conscious of every movement; she didn't want to do anything that would make Ann move. Ann was warm, and soft, and so beautiful. April had kept talking, but was rambling by this point, awkward and stilted. Ann's breathing was slow and even. She was glad Ann was nearly asleep; if she had been fully awake, it would have been easy for her to tell that something was amiss. Eventually April just trailed off in the middle of her sentence, partly because she didn't know what else to say, and partly because she wanted to know if Ann was still awake. Ann didn't stir, and April could relax.

It must have been close to dawn, even though there was no trace of pink in the sky outside the window. In the near-darkness of the room, April listened to Ann's breathing and felt it through the subtle rise and fall of Ann's head against her shoulder. Ann had chosen to get close to her; Ann had chosen to be next to her. Ann didn't mind the feel of their arms against each other, and wanted to lay her head on April's shoulder. Her breathing was soft. Being able to listen like this, feel like this, was nearly bliss.

And yet there was the sliver of sorrow, because this wasn't all she wanted. She wished Ann would keep her head on her shoulder while she was awake, not just while she was asleep. She wanted Ann to let her stroke her hair or kiss her temple, and as her lips touched Ann's hair, push closer. She wanted Ann's eyes to be open.

But that wouldn't happen; if Ann woke up, she would feel embarrassed and excuse herself, and probably even be a little distant to make up for what she would see as invading April's personal space. At this point, it was hard for April to enjoy the moment; she could only think of when Ann would wake up and go to her bedroom, which felt so far away. She could only think of how everything she was feeling would end.

April hated herself for being unable to enjoy the best thing that had happened to her since – since she could remember, really. She reminded herself, like a mantra, that this was all she had, all she would have. If she was going to survive, she would have to enjoy this for what it was, and not hate it for what it was not. And so she closed her eyes and listened to Ann's soft breathing. This was all she had, all she would have. She slid a hand on to Ann's, and threaded their fingers together. This was as close as she and Ann had ever been. This wasn't what she needed most desperately, but now was the time to make do with what she had. This was all she had, all she would have. The thought would carry her through the next half hour of tranquility and belonging, until she, too, fell asleep.

* * *

Over the next couple of weeks, April adopted Ann's schedule entirely.

She wasn't going to miss anything because she was asleep. She was never going to have enough; but she would try to have the little she could.

* * *

The corner of the cabinet dug into April's side as she tried to get more leverage on the joint of the pipe. Ann had complained about her leaky faucet, and April had spent a little while looking online for how to fix it. Ann would come home, and there wouldn't be slow pounding dripping from the faucet, and April could smile and say that she had fixed it. Maybe Ann would hug her for it; one more, after the first when she got home.

There was a buzzing in her pocket, and she fished out her phone, and stopped short: the screen said ANDY. She just stared at the phone until his name vanished, and went to voicemail. She shoved it back in her pocket, and slumped against the cabinet door. All of a sudden her life was stopped up, constricted by this weight, unable to move forward. But she didn't delete it. She reached out to the bolt, and squeezed it, wrenching it clockwise until it wouldn't go any more.

Her phone beeped. A voicemail.

She thought about deleting it, but didn't know what to do. She turned the sink on, and then off again. After a second, a drop welled up in the underside of the faucet, and hit the basin with a tinny splash. Followed by another, and another. She closed her eyes.

After a second, she opened her eyes, pulled the phone out of her pocket, and pressed the button for voicemail.

"I just want to, um, see if you've changed your mind. Because, I've been thinking, and maybe what you want is a place for us in Pawnee. A place without Ben, just for you and me, right here in the best city in the world. Look, I'm going to go to the mortgage store –" she thought she heard a soft voice on the other end, it sounded like Leslie's – "I mean, the bank, and if you want me to—" April couldn't bear to listen any longer, and exited voicemail, and turned off the phone. She breathed in, and breathed out, trying to catch her balance, even though she was resting on the floor. A plunk, and then another, as drops from the faucet hit the metal sink.

* * *

April pulled another blanket from the opposite couch; they hadn't needed two before, but it was getting colder now.

Ann went back to the disk's menu, and made a face. "Only two more DVDs left after this one."

"Oh," April said, and hesitated. "Maybe we could watch it again, from the beginning."

"Yeah, maybe," Ann said, glancing at the time. It was getting late.

April got up, and walked over to the fridge. "Hey, you want to make sundaes?"

"Sure, that sounds nice," Ann smiled.

"OK fatty," April said and opened up the freezer, pushing aside frozen vegetables and ice cube trays.

She couldn't find it. "Well, I guess there's no ice cream left," April sighed. She brushed her big toe against the grout separating the tiles in Ann's kitchen, and looked down at her feet. "Ugh, what's the point of life if there's no ice cream?"

"There is none," Ann said, smiling. April almost laughed.

"Next episode is ready," Ann said.

April smiled back, and went to the couch with the slightest bounce in her step, and got under the blankets, next to Ann.

She looked over at Ann, her face illuminated by flashing blue light from the title sequence. She settled in against the back of the couch, and pushed her bare feet under the blanket against Ann's.

"Aaagh," Ann said, not taking her eyes off of the TV, and shifted away from her, breaking contact. "Your feet are cold."

* * *

As the wind pushed at her back, April had told herself that morning that she was on the lookout for "Help Wanted" signs. It was a halfhearted lie, since she knew that looking for a job on foot wasn't the best strategy. And anyway, she rarely looked up from her feet as she walked.

The grocery store was filled with still air, providing some respite from the outdoors. In the inside of her hoodie pocket, she felt the crinkled $100 bill Ann had given her. She tried going down an aisle, only to find a man sitting on an overturned grocery cart, blocking the way. He was hunched over, protecting a bag of chips, clutching it so tightly they were sure to be crumbs.

* * *

April tried slipping into fantasy again, but she wasn't sure what was left that she hadn't thought of that day. She looked out the window, for the fourth time that night, and didn't see Ann. These last hours before 3:00 were always the hardest. She tried not to go out once the streetlights had gone out. The house was so quiet that she couldn't imagine what it would be like with Ann here, filling it with little sounds, and her voice. God, her voice. Somehow the thought of Ann speaking made it seem quieter still, muffled. In that quietness she waited.

* * *

She resolved that whenever she left Ann's house, she would walk through the alleys. She couldn't deal with the catcalls any longer – walk long enough in this town on any given day and you'll get at least one. They usually came from cars, and there was nothing she could say – no snarky comment, nothing off-putting – that they would hear. They were there, and then gone, and she was still here, with nothing to say.

* * *

April traced her finger along the seam of the mattress, and looked up into Ann, propping her head up with her hand. In the soft, golden light of her nightstand, Ann's eyes reflected a warmth, and she slowly blinked. It was too late, but they didn't care.

"What do you mean?" April asked quietly, engrossed in Ann's words.

"I don't know," Ann said wistfully. "I did think my life would be different. But now that I'm here, I can't remember how. I just thought things would be…" She shrugged. April retracted her hand, and watched Ann closely. "Sometimes I feel like the last few years has just been a loss. Like I haven't done anything. I've just gotten older. I used to not be so impatient. Things in my life didn't change, but I thought change was just around the corner. But it never was…"

"What about what's good?" April asked. Ann's words had been at the forefront of her mind, but now it was all fading into the background as she watched Ann's eyes. Sometimes, she just couldn't help but be consumed, utterly consumed, by how beautiful Ann was. She reached out her hand, and with only a little hesitation, began playing with Ann's hair absentmindedly.

Ann smiled. "Yeah. There are definitely things that are good. You, for one." April tried to keep her face from flushing, and didn't make eye contact, though she knew Ann was looking at her. In a way, she didn't have to look at Ann's eyes; her fingers brushing against soft curls was enough. The fact that Ann let her touch her, at all, was enough. "Leslie, even though I haven't really seen her in… weeks, I guess." She laid her head down on the mattress, looking at April, everything sideways. Ann was looking tired, and glanced at her phone. April knew it was nearly 4:45.

"Do you miss her?" April asked, wanting to extend their time a little more. She always wanted a little more.

Ann shrugged. "In a way, yeah. But… sometimes you need someone who will let you be you. Or, I mean, let you figure who you _are_, so that you can be you. And I love Leslie. I do. But, that's not exactly her strong suit. You know what I mean?"

"Yeah," April smiled, and nodded. Ann looked so beautiful in the pale light. She retracted her hand, worried for a moment Ann might notice how long she had been touching her hair.

Ann smiled, and started to let her eyes drift close.

April's pulse picked up. She didn't want Ann to go yet. This was perfect, this was what she had wanted all day. They could stay up for a little longer.

"What, ummm…" April stalled. "What do you want to do tomorrow?"

Ann, not able to fully open her eyes, shifted a little, resting the back of her head against the mattress. "Mmmm, I don't know. Work. What do you want to do?"

April tried not to scoff at the idea that there was anything she could do while Ann was at work. "Ummm, I don't know. Maybe we could finish the season, and make hot fudge sundaes again?" She hoped Ann would smile at the thought.

Ann muttered a sound in response. After a quick intake of breath, she sat up halfway, propped on her elbow. She let out a short laugh. "I think I really need to get to bed."

"Oh," April said quietly, trying to hide her disappointment. She glanced at the blankets that she was laying on which covered Ann's feet. She thought about just pulling them up, over both of them, and turning off the light. Maybe Ann would not say anything, and just close her eyes, and there they would be.

Or maybe Ann would ask her if she was going to the couch. April could make something up – she could say the couch hurt her back. But then maybe Ann would move to the couch, and April would feel awful, paralyzed by shame, and with nothing to show for it.

Ann tilted her head, unsure of why April was still there. April looked into Ann's eyes, wanting her to understand – just a little. Ann's eyes were beautiful, as always, but they were tired, and she didn't understand.

And with that April got up and trudged to the couch, frustrated. She laid there, eyes open, for a long time. She felt manipulative and guilty for trying to insinuate her way into Ann's bed, joined by an acute emptiness at not being there. In fact, whenever she wasn't with Ann, it always felt like that – lose/lose.

* * *

Ann looked sympathetically at the exhausted woman crouched next to her son in the bleak hospital room. The boy shivered, and his mother wiped the stain on his Spider-Man shirt, and then cupped his forehead underneath the bowl haircut.

The doctor hadn't said anything for a couple of minutes; he was writing notes, and stopped only to clean his glasses.

Ann glanced at the chart one more time, and cleared her throat. "Doctor, the symptoms are also consistent with rotavirus." Ann felt the woman's eyes still on her.

He didn't look up from his notes, and scoffed. "It's not rotavirus."

Ann looked back to the woman, who hadn't said a word. Her eyes were sunken, tired. The woman looked like she was about to ask a question.

The doctor finally glanced at Ann. "You're needed elsewhere," he said. It was her cue to leave.

On the way back to the front desk, Ann looked behind her, and seeing no one in the hall, stepped into the supply closet. She closed her eyes in the darkness there, trying to shut out the faint sound of doctors and nurses walking by outside. This was the second time she had come here this shift; she couldn't be gone for more than five minutes – someone would notice – but the brief respite made the long shift bearable.

Her day had been an exhausting stretch of trying to satisfy the incompatible demands of different doctors and keep up with her patients, whose numbers seemed to be perpetually increasing.

There were two car accidents already tonight, and a kid with a bad raccoon bite, the third this week. The hospital had ordered more rabies shots, so apparently they thought there would be even more.

She tried to push all of that out. She shut her eyes and let her mind wander. It wandered to the same place it always did – seeing April when she got home. For a long while now she had spent all of her free time with April, and yet there was still a mute compulsion which made her feel desperate to see April's face. She had lived with that for long enough now that it was second nature. She hadn't understood the compulsion fully earlier, but it was making more and more sense. A good friend lets you find yourself, and helps you find yourself, and that was what April was doing.

It was a messy process. Most days she felt conflicted about the hospital – she thought it would help her sleep at night to be here, and it did, a little. And there was something comforting in the fact that April, too, was choosing to heal others as her profession. But she still wasn't sleeping as well as she thought she would. She hadn't had a good day here in a while – a day where she felt like she had really made a difference. Each day she came home exhausted, smelling like hospital soap and RedBull. She hoped there was something better, and wondered at her decision. Of course, with the layoffs at City Hall, she would have ended up here anyway. But that made it somehow worse, like this was part of her fate, the end of all the paths before her.

She would talk about it with April when she got home. April would listen and help her figure it out. Not figure out what April wanted Ann to do, but what Ann wanted for herself. She chose to go back to the hospital because it would help her sleep at night, but it was April who was helping her sleep at night, just by being there. Ann smiled in the dark, thinking of how they could lay on the bed and talk, April's eyes so pretty in the soft light of the bedroom. She was lucky to have found someone truly good and special, who would help her be her, and instead of dating some random guy, she could finally, as Chris had suggested, only date herself.


	10. Nothing Left

April rested her arms on either side of her coffee cup on the kitchen counter. Waking up and having breakfast each day with Ann was a small joy for her. Breakfast was quiet, the deep breath before Ann had to plunge into work. Ann would read the paper and eat some buttered toast, and this gave April the opportunity to watch her. When they talked, it was nothing very heavy, and that felt intimate in a whole new way, different from their serious conversations.

Ann's phone beeped, and she looked at it. "Just got a group text from Tom. He says, 'Hey Pawnee ballerz' – there's a 'z' on the end of that one—"

"Ann, I really think you guys should get back together. I think you're soul mates."

"Shut up," Ann said, rolling her eyes, and trying not to smile. She continued: "'Hit up the Snakehole tonight for drinkies, dancing and DJ Bluntz.' Hmm. What do you think?"

"About 'drinkies'?" April asked incredulously.

"Well, I was thinking more about the dancing." Ann shrugged. "I don't know, it could be fun. We could dress up, get out of here for a while…"

April bit her lip. Leaving Ann's house rarely worked out well. But she could tell that Ann wanted to do this, and she wanted to give that to her.

"Come on," Ann smiled, got up and walked over to April. "Girls' night out. We'll each put on something sexy, dance, we'll have a great time. What do you say?" Ann reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind April's ear.

April tried not to blush; she reached out to rest her hand on the side of Ann's waist, and for a second could imagine how she would feel, but had to stop herself.

It was getting harder and harder for April not to tell Ann how she felt. She used to get by on their friendship, but some nights it was difficult to focus on anything but the fact that Ann couldn't feel the same way. The asymmetry was like a splinter, lodging deeper and deeper into her, constantly drawing attention to the pain.

Sometimes it felt like all she wanted to do was kiss Ann, and nothing after that would matter. Sometimes it felt like the only thing that mattered would happen after the kiss – would Ann let her know that she was worthy enough, and kiss her back? Or was she too damaged, too pitiful?

Ann was still waiting for her answer.

"If a guy hits on me do I get to throw a drink in his face?" April asked sulkily, trying to get in the spirit.

"You should _definitely _do that," Ann smiled and nodded.

April smiled too, but inwardly she wondered how long she could keep this up.

* * *

That afternoon, April went to the grocery store to pick up some eyeliner – she was nearly out, and Ann's wasn't as dark as she liked. She shuffled down the alley, trying to avoid as many people as possible. She had forgotten her iPod, and without the barrier her earbuds provided, she felt exposed. She resented hearing the inane conversations on the street corners nearby and the obnoxious engines of motorcycles. The sky was a cloudy, colorless mass; for the first time in a long while, she felt an oncoming chill.

She watched the ground as she walked, unsure of how she felt about going out that night. It would be nice to see Ann dance, and have a good time. But it would also mean seeing Tom, and probably a bunch of people from work. Had word gotten around about she and Andy? And if Andy was there she would just leave – that was obvious. But then there would be a long, quiet car ride home, with each of them dressed up, until they reached Ann's place, dark and empty. Or, what would be even worse, Ann would remain and dance and drink, and April would walk there alone. The thought scared her, but she reassured herself. Ann wouldn't do that, though. Not if she saw Andy there, not if she knew why April had to leave. Ann would stay with her.

And if Ann stayed, it would be a night like any other. One more night of connecting with Ann and all the pleasure and catharsis that held, but still being unable to let her know everything, the pain of holding that back. One more night of April trying to find moments to watch Ann while she was unaware, so that she could just look at her, see her think and move and be. One more night where April would linger at any physical contact, compelled by the feeling of connection she craved.

But the feeling was always crowded out by the pain of knowing that Ann would never reciprocate. It was wearing on her.

She had to cross the street to get to the store, and while she was in the crosswalk people from a passing car screamed something unintelligible at her. She kept her head down, and kept walking. The thought of saying something, screaming anything, died as quickly as it arose.

In the store she found the eyeliner she used, and went looking for a snack. She browsed a couple of aisles. On top of a box of granola bars there was an old hot dog – it had been there a week ago – the skin dark and shrunken and wrinkled and the bun stained red and yellow. She turned around; she wasn't hungry any more.

* * *

By evening, April was nearly at the Snakehole Lounge and adjusted the straps on her black dress for the thousandth time. She knew that no matter how pretty she looked tonight it wouldn't change how Ann felt about her, but it was impossible not to entertain that dim hope anyway. Maybe Ann would look at her in that black dress and think she was pretty, and notice something she hadn't noticed before. All April wanted was for Ann to think she was half as beautiful as she thought Ann was. Even out here, in the damp night, she could feel the bass from inside the club, and it matched the nervous pounding of her heart.

After a brief wait in the line outside, she got in. The club was familiar, though it seemed louder and darker than the last time she had been there. From behind the railing dividing the bar from the dance floor, she scanned the bar, on the lookout for Tom and anyone else from work, but all the faces were of strangers. It was hard to see through the smoke, a mix of cigarettes and fog machines for the dance floor. The main floor was a bouncing mass of people dancing to a clear, strong beat.

Near the other side of the room she finally saw Ann in a simple blue dress, dancing by herself, completely absorbed by the music.

April moved to go over, but stopped herself. She would be there soon enough. Now she would just stay at a distance, and watch Ann be herself.

In the low lights of the club Ann swayed, her hair lightly curled, bouncing. She was unselfconscious and free, and even at this distance, a small smile playing on her lips. April leaned over onto the railing, never taking her eyes off of her. April couldn't understand how someone could be so beautiful, so perfect.

She watched Ann, and for the first time in a long time, the angst of not being able to tell her how she felt faded away, and she was able to just see her and love her from afar. It didn't matter that Ann didn't feel the same way; the only thing that existed was Ann's beauty.

The crowd parted as a guy in a red polo shirt pushed through, making his way towards Ann. A knot in her stomach began to form when she saw that he was carrying two drinks. April couldn't hear anything over the bass, but she could see him offer one to Ann. She took it with an easy smile; it was clear that this was not the first time they had spoken. April began to feel sick. They continued dancing with their drinks, leaning over to talk in each other's ears, intimately, over the music. He said something and Ann laughed; he reached out a hand and touched the side of her waist, the same spot April had wanted to touch earlier, and couldn't. April waited to see what Ann would do. Ann just smiled.

April turned around, unable to look at what was happening, unable to breathe. She had to get out of the club. She bolted, barely hearing someone calling her name. It was Tom. "Hey girl, I haven't seen you in—" She brushed past him, out the doors, reaching the cool night air. Head down, she pushed through the crowd of smokers and went into the alley, shaky with nerves.

She watched the dark asphalt, still damp from an earlier storm, as she walked, but in her mind's eye all she could see was that asshole with his hand on Ann's waist, and Ann's smile. Ann's fucking smile.

She felt completely helpless as she wandered in the dark, unsure of where she was going. She hated the empty night, and hated herself for being so stupid – like some idiotic, swooning teenager with a crush, getting her heart broken for no good reason. She hated this town more intensely than ever. The alley stunk from garbage strewn by raccoons, wet from the storm, and all she could think of was how she was stuck here, the warmth in the night snuffed out by a bitter breeze.

She came up against a dead end in the alley, and had to track back to the road. It was past midnight, and there were no lights on; even the moon was gone. She walked in the general direction of home, unable to care enough to check if she was really going the right way. At regular intervals the road would be flooded with yellow light, and a single car would speed past on her left, a noisy whoosh lingering in her ears. April thought she was on the sidewalk, but couldn't muster the interest to look. The cars might have been close to her – with each passing one, her hair was buffeted by the car's wake.

A harsh breeze came from her left and a car rushed past, feeling closer to her than the others – if she reached out, could she have touched it? When it was ahead of her, the quiet night was shot through, quick, with a screech of breaks and a sick wet cracking thud. April looked up, shocked out of her daze, but couldn't see anything other than the red taillights of the car as it slid to a stop up in front of her. She could see the shadow of the driver's head, craning and trying to see behind the car. After a beat, the car sped off, tires squealing, and soon it was gone.

April looked all around, but she was alone now. She walked ahead to where the car was, arms outstretched in the dark, scanning the ground for what it had hit, but everything was a shadow under the starless night.

Her foot hit something soft and she heard a faint snort. Rapidly fishing her phone out of her pocket, she turned it on, and pointed it to the ground. In the faint light she could see. "Oh God," she said. Right before her feet was a deer – its body against the curb, its head resting on its cheek on the sidewalk. It was still but for a soft breath. April reached out a trembling hand to the creature's neck, its brown speckled fur soft between her fingers. The animal snorted more weakly, more like a throaty gurgle. She couldn't stop staring at the rectangle of pale light reflected in the deer's round, brown eye; the eye was looking right at her. She tried to say something, but nothing came out. It exhaled deeply and she felt the air pass through its neck, but there was no inhale. It laid there, unmoving, its eye still open, the ghost of panic in it.

"Oh God," April said, "Oh God," and with shaking fingers she stood up and tried to call someone on the phone. She called animal control, the first thing in her contacts. She brought the phone to her ear and heard it ring, and she watched the deer, unmoving; should she try some kind of CPR? How the fuck does that work with a deer? It rang again, and the creature still just laid there.

Another ring. No movement.

"Fuck!" April shouted into the empty night. She bent down and reached out to the deer once more, but couldn't bring herself to touch it again, because now she knew it was dead. There was no more exhale, no more inhale. The eye was still shot open, the light of her cell phone reflected in the corner of it.

She stood up and let her hand drop by her side. She couldn't listen to one more ring, but she also couldn't hang up. She stood there for a long time and waited. No cars came. No people came. She was alone, next to the body she knew was growing cold.

Without realizing what she was doing, she started walking, a wobbly, stuttering walk, passing by the deer unable to look at it once more. Nothing made sense, and only after a while did she realize that the noise in her ears was the sound of her sobs. She reached up and cleaned off her cheeks with the back of her hand. It was wet; she must have been crying.

She found herself at Ann's house, and the key turned in the lock. She felt the need to pee, but it faded in and out of her mind and she couldn't focus, and then felt the soft give of the couch. She was curled into the fetal position. Her eyes closed, and everything spun to the left.

There was a faint buzzing , and she looked into her hand. Her phone was on, ringing on the other end – she had never hung up. She hit "end call" and the phone fell to the ground next to her. She heard a dull, thick thud as it hit; and like an echo that never ended, she heard the thud again and again, as consciousness left her.

* * *

April opened her eyes, trying to locate the noise, disoriented. "April," the voice said again. April's eyes adjusted, and she looked up at Ann, and slowly gathered herself to sit up.

"I missed you at the Snakehole. Did you fall asleep before you were going to leave?" Ann asked, frowning, as she sat down beside April, looking at her dress.

"What?" April asked, not looking at Ann, absorbed by the rawness of consciousness.

"Did you fall asleep?" Ann asked again.

"I couldn't save her," April mumbled, still staring off into the distance. She felt empty inside.

"Are you OK?" Ann was getting concerned.

April looked up at Ann. "What are you doing here?" April asked.

"Uh, I live here, April…"

"No, I mean, I thought you'd go home with – someone. That's what you do, Ann." April hated how beautiful Ann looked in her dress, and it only reminded her of how available she was to whatever guy wanted her.

The harshness of April's tone took Ann aback, and she looked hurt. "I don't do that anymore," she said weakly.

"Out of practice?" April asked.

"I guess I could have gone home with someone. But I didn't want to."

"Why not?" April asked sullenly.

"Because." Ann shrugged. "All I wanted was to come home and see you." Ann's features were soft in the dim light. She moved closer and she put her hand on April's. She was concerned, her eyes trying to understand.

April turned her hand around and held Ann's, warm and soft against her palm. With her other hand, April reached over and tucked a stray lock of hair behind Ann's ear. Ann didn't move, but kept her eyes on April's, the faintest smile emerging at her touch.

Every day April had stopped herself from doing things like this, afraid of alienating Ann and revealing her feelings. It took a lot out of her to do that, to deny the very center of herself what it most wanted. But today she didn't have the resources to restrain herself. She didn't even need to search herself for inner strength; she knew there was nothing left. Everything hurt, everything was a caustic pounding ache – except the softness of Ann's hand in hers. Ann's eyes were soft and beautiful and deep in the warm light. She thought maybe there was love in those eyes. Ann's words echoed in her ears: "All I wanted was to come home and see you." If April had said that to Ann, she knew what it would mean. And now she needed, really needed, Ann to mean the same thing. That was the only thing that would make any of this bearable. She gently pressed her thumb against Ann's cheek and brought Ann toward her as she leaned in; Ann's eyes were half-closed. After their faces were close, slowly, she leaned forward, and pressed her lips against Ann's, feeling their full softness. April kissed her once, the warmth inside her focusing everything on the sensation of Ann's lips – softer than she had thought they could be in every imagination. For once, everything, even the shame, was gone, dissolving away with the press of her lips on Ann's. Ann started to recede slowly, brushing her lips against April's, once, and then again, before pulling away.

Ann slowly opened her eyes. "April…" she said, her voice low. "I think…" Ann's expression was unreadable. "I think you're confused."

April felt like the floor was sinking from below her. She didn't understand. The moment had been perfect – Ann must have felt that. She swallowed. "Well…," she tried to gather herself, "then you're confused, too."

Ann looked away, and after a moment, stood up. "Let's just… forget about it." She walked to the doorway of her bedroom, and turned around, still not quite looking at April. "Go to bed, April," she said, and closed the bedroom door behind her.

April sat there, her lips still tingling from Ann's, her pulse high, but she was alone in silence, the vacuum of sound pounding in her ears, and there was nothing left inside her.


	11. Triage

Ann reached to her bedroom door to open it, but hesitated. She had woken up early, and was wondering whether April would be awake by now. She paused at the door, and touched her lips absentmindedly as she lingered. Maybe if she just said nothing, last night would never come up again. But she worried that things would be different; they couldn't look at each other without knowing, the unspoken words suffocating them.

The knob rattled under her trembling hand and she walked softly into the living room. April lay asleep on the couch, turned away. Ann wondered if she should try to slip out before she got up, but worried that it would only make things feel more awkward and distant. April stirred gently, turning around, and looking up at Ann.

"I guess I'll get out of here," April said. She must have been tired – here eyes looked the same as they were last night.

"April," Ann said tentatively, "you can stay here as long as you want."

"Whatever," April muttered, and began looking for her things.

Ann tried to think of a way to get her to stay, but nothing was coming. "April, please."

April shoved her iPod into her bag, looking up. "Please what?"

Ann tried to find the words. "I…"

April crossed her arms.

Ann exhaled. "I got home last night, and you were… Something happened to you last night, and I don't know what it is. And I'm a mess. And God, April, you're married."

"Probably not for long…"

Ann sighed. "April—"

April swung her bag over her shoulder, and walked out the door, the sound of it closing echoing again and again through the silence.

* * *

Ann went to refill her mug with more coffee. The house felt quiet and big. Last night, when she approached April on the couch, her hair gently curled, it had been quiet, too. Ann felt the shadow of sensation, of April's lips approaching hers.

Of course, she thought, what that felt like didn't matter. The fact that April kissed her was a sign that everything that had happened to her – separating from Andy, getting fired, this entire place – was wearing on her. How could April not be a mess?

Ann had been desperate before. She knew what it was like to be starved for intimacy, to forget everything else and just reach out to whoever was there. There had been a time – God, she was ashamed to admit it – when she would sleep with a guy without knowing his name. And without being able to remember the name of the one she slept with the previous night. Always a different guy, something to change from what was. Something different from what she was surrounded with day by day. There were days when nothing could have made her come back to this empty house; she was willing to do anything she could to be with someone, to not be alone. God, April must be in dire straits to reach out to her, despite how fucked up she was.

God she was a mess. You couldn't trust yourself to feel what you should feel, to do what you should do, when someone kissed you. Not when you were this damaged. Everything felt muddled and strained – at least, it usually did, when she wasn't at home.

But now the empty house wasn't a comfort, and all she could think about was how stupid the framed picture of flowers on the wall looked, and how the area behind the sink could never really get clean. Suddenly she wanted to move – anywhere, it didn't matter. Indianapolis, Wilmington, back to Michigan – the prospect of nights here, alone, seemed unbearable. The color was all gone, like it had never been there at all. Ann walked over to the kitchen, feeling each deliberate step, and poured the coffee into the sink, brown rivulets running back and forth down the metal, into the drain. She sat down on the couch. It was still warm from April's body, and she absentmindedly ran a hand along the length of it, feeling the residual heat, though now it was nearly spent.

Suddenly she imagined what was coming: seeing April around town, passing awkwardly by, some snide remark of April's always at the ready. But now she would know what would hurt, a barb that would lodge in her and that she couldn't get out; something she would carry with her through the day and into the night, as she tried to fall asleep in a cold bed, all alone. She wanted anything but that; God, she couldn't stand the thought of it, and all the other nights that promised nothing but this empty house.

She couldn't stand this feeling – it passed out of the realm of wanting April back, and now it was a need, a pull from deep inside her, and she was unable to think of anything else. She needed April here, beside her, right now.

She stood up.

Suddenly she understood last night a little more. Not everything. Not the kiss, which still felt…

Ann took a deep breath.

Obviously it was all confused, all mixed up. But she would forget it, and if she acted right now, she could prevent that kiss from ruining their friendship. She crossed the room and looked for her keys. She could convince her to come back – they could just forget it, and chalk it up to whatever had happened to April that night. What had happened, anyway? Had she run into Andy? Something else? Would Ann be able to help?

She could get April to stay. And then thing would be back to… well, no, they wouldn't be back to normal. What would be left? It used to be that she could tell April anything, but now this gulf between them couldn't be bridged. They would watch _Sex and the City_, they would catch up over lunch, but these would just be a shell of what had been. Ann had told April everything, even when she was fairly sure April would hate her, but she never did. And now, if they couldn't say anything, it would be lost. Maybe April hated her now, anyway. Again.

Ann felt sick; it felt like a pathetic charade to be friends without talking about this. A compromise that cut down into the marrow.

But there wasn't much choice. It was that, or being alone. She grabbed her keys from the counter and started toward the door.

Ann was good at these decisions; she had been trained to do this. In her line of work, they called it triage. Learning to make the least worst call. And right now, anything was better than spending the rest of her life confronting April as a stranger around Pawnee

* * *

The parking lot was empty, and the black asphalt reflected the glow of the "Goodwill" sign. Ann got out of the car and walked around, shoving her hands into the shallow pockets of her cardigan, trying to ward off the chilly air. It was a lot like that night a long time ago, when they had dropped off her boxes, though it had been warmer then.

She conjured up the strange image of a box with "APRIL" written on it. It felt wrong. April was too good for that to happen to her; she could never do that to her. And besides, she didn't want to be the kind of person who kept boxes any more.

It was a little ironic to worry about that, anyway. April had been the one who prompted her to get rid of the boxes. And that was strange – it wasn't actually that long ago when they dropped off those boxes – it just felt like a long time.

She no longer knew the Ann who had kept those boxes in her closet. Life wasn't any better now – it might even be a little worse – but she knew was that she didn't want to be that person again. And that was purely because of April. That night they had driven back in comfortable silence, smiling. Now Ann rested her forehead on the steering wheel, eyes nearly closing, as she remembered it, feeling warm. That night it was dark, but April's eyes had reflected the slow passing of the yellow and green of the stoplights that passed overhead

* * *

Leaves blew sideways into the road as Ann passed a group of children throwing rocks at a fence. Leslie's house was only a couple blocks away. Ann wasn't sure if April would go back there or not. If she was, there was a chance that right now she was back in Andy's arms. The thought made her uncomfortable, and she told herself it was because she just didn't want things to go back to the way they had been. Them together, April hating her. As if was out of her control entirely, as if this had been a long detour, and they had to end up there, after all. Ann would have to get used to being alone, again, the steep learning curve that wasn't so much about accepting loneliness as it was about giving up everything.

She pulled into Leslie's driveway, got out, and knocked on the door. No answer. She tried the door handle – Leslie absentmindedly used to leave it unlocked – and it opened.

The house was dark and quiet, the living room still cluttered from April's boxes. Actually, they weren't just April's – they were labeled "APRIL/ANDY." Of course they were. They were married. April was still married when she kissed her.

Ann made her way over to the bed in the corner and laid down, looking up at the ceiling. The texture made it look like an overlapping quilt of galaxies and stars.

Ann frowned. She had had that thought before. She had laid here, looking up at the ceiling, right after she and April had moved the mattress in from the house to Leslie's. They had fallen asleep, next to each other – had April felt that way about her even then? If she had, April hadn't let on. That night, Ann had woken up, and started to go home, but decided to wake April up, too. There in the dim light she had touched April's shoulder, for no reason, other than a strange pull that wanted to keep her near. And the pull was still in her – it was why she had been driving all over town, looking for her. How strange – even then she had April. And now she needed April even more.

She just wasn't sure for what.

* * *

Ann was starting to get desperate as she pulled into the Hospital parking lot. Midnight would come soon; it was already dark and hazy, occasional cars filling the road with a sickly yellow light.

There was probably no reason April would be here, but she felt like she had to check. And it wasn't _so _crazy that April would come here. Maybe she had thought things over; maybe she was looking for her here, trying to talk to her. She wanted to talk to April so desperately, the idea that April wanted to talk to her, too, almost forced itself into her consciousness. And besides, it seemed fitting to find her here – April had helped her choose to work here.

That seemed like such a long time ago. It had happened at home, the warm light making everything that seemed hard about April look soft. She wondered how many people had ever seen that side of April.

Now the light in the hospital was bright and artificial, and the lobby stank of cleaning fluid and used bandages. Had she really chosen this? In a way she had dodged a bullet – her Health Department job would have vanished with April's if she had stayed on. And for once she hadn't decided because of Leslie pushing her – or Mark, or Chris, or Tom. April hadn't made her decide. She had helped her decide. And God, if April felt then the way she did now, she must have wanted her to stay at City Hall. She could have manipulated her to satisfy her own need, and Ann would have been ripe for it. She would have stayed. And April knew that, too. And still April helped her choose the hospital, anyway, even though it was far from her.

Ann stopped in her tracks, brought up short by how strange that act was, compared to how everyone had always treated her. In the pause, she wondered if that was what love was.

Why anyone, much less someone as good as April, would love her – well, that wasn't going to make sense, no matter what.

It felt like a puzzle, haunting her, occupying her thoughts even as she walked around the cold hospital. She looked into an examination room as she walked past. Instead she saw a face, vaguely familiar, which she couldn't place right away – a woman with sad eyes, and a little boy wearing a Spider-Man shirt. She paused, and turned toward her.

She wanted to keep looking for April, but part of her felt like this was important, and she stopped. "Is everything OK?" she asked.

"Yes, it is now," the woman answered, a small smile emerging on her deeply-lined face. "You said David might have 'rotavirus'. He's never been vaccinated – we've heard things, bad things, about… I mean, we were wrong. He just got some medicine now. He's already feeling better, and it's just been a couple of hours. I think he's going to be OK."

Ann stared for a second until the memory came back, her confrontation with the doctor still a little raw.

"Thank you," the woman said. "I know that doctor, well, he didn't believe you. But I'm glad you said something."

Ann nodded, almost as if on automatic. "Thank you," she said, not quite sure what else to say.

The woman was starting to pick up how shaken up Ann was, but by then, Ann was drifting out of the room, back into the hallway.

Ann felt something vaguely familiar, from long ago, like remembering a smell you loved as a child, but not being able to place it. The feeling was like getting a deep breath after being under water too long. Like she had done something that was complete, something that was actually really done, once and for all.

That was the feeling, she realized, that let her sleep at night.

Or, at least, she would have been able to that night, she thought, if April was back home. That was all she could wish for right now, and if April did come back home, if the dim light of the bedroom played on her features once more, she would finally feel complete, needing nothing.

Ann walked out, a little bit overwhelmed by what she was feeling. She picked up speed, her heart racing as the pull emptied every other need out of her. She checked with the front desk for April; they hadn't seen her.

Her thoughts shifted and turned in a racing tumult, trying to figure out where else April could be, but coming up empty.

Ann stopped herself as she realized something. It might not be possible to find April in Pawnee.

* * *

April turned her back against the wind, shivering. She twisted the dried, dead stem of a flower in her fingers, the brown filaments steadily tearing apart. It broke in two, and she threw the pieces back into the flower pot where she found it, there in the smallest park in Pawnee. The dead plants surrounding her rustled in the wind, and she wondered how much money it saved the city to stop watering them.

It was cold, and she wanted to go somewhere warm, but she couldn't go back to Leslie's, and there was no way she was going back to Ann's. For the thousandth time she replayed Ann's voice saying, "I think you're confused." Like it was some sort of warning. There was a tone there that had never been in Ann's voice when they talked about Andy, or watched _Sex and the City_, or the night Ann fell asleep on April's shoulder. And that could have continued, for who knows how long, if she just hadn't kissed her. It was such a small thing – why couldn't she take it back, make it not happen? After the kiss everything started slipping away, and any moment it would finally feel like she was left with nothing.

It felt so slow at the time, but she should have seen all of this coming – God, it almost seemed inevitable. Yesterday she wanted to spend a thousand nights with Ann, even if she was in Pawnee. Now there was no reason to stay. She fished a cigarette out of the pack she bought off a guy at the bus station, and lit it, the small flame flickering in the wind. She took a drag, and the sharp, gritty smoke burned, but gave way to a slight fogginess that dulled the cold of the biting wind.

Maybe, she thought, she should let Ann know that she was going to Wilmington. But there was no point. Ann wouldn't change her mind. Maybe she'd try to convince April to stay with some pitiful pitch, trying to show how things could go back to normal. As if they could watch _Sex and the City_ and April would sleep on the couch, and somehow they'd ignore the fact that April wished she was in Ann's bed, instead. The thought of that conversation brought on a thick wave of nausea. Ann, of all people, should know that she can't stay. No, she wouldn't tell her; sooner or later, Ann would find out, and she would understand. Maybe she was the only one who would.

But Andy wouldn't. She couldn't bear to see his face, not for a moment; telling him in person was out of the question. She found her notebook in her bag and tore out a ragged piece of paper. _Andy, _she wrote. She tried to find the words to explain it – or, at least, something she could write without breaking down. Something that wouldn't hurt him. She took another drag of the cigarette and watched the white smoke swirl against the gray sky. She looked around at the dead flowers softly rattling in the breeze as she sat alone on the small bench, but the words weren't there. She put the pen to paper, hoping that something would come. She wrote the only thing she could, and ended the note with a period: _I'm sorry_.


End file.
